


Under Foot, Under Moon

by sometimeswelose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Black Hermione Granger, But mostly angst, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter was Raised by Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, Harry Potter was Raised by Sirius Black, Hogwarts, Indian Harry Potter, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Explicit Representation, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Redemption, Slow Burn, Trans Character, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-09-02 00:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeswelose/pseuds/sometimeswelose
Summary: A Harry Potter raised by Sirius Black (and Remus Lupin) fanfic driven by the mighty need for a loving family, explicit representation, redemption arcs explained (or at least expanded), and other fan-fueled nonsense.*Edit*: It turns out that so far this is 50% Marauders backstory, 25% Harry, and 25% The Slowest of Burns*Spoiler*: If you're here for the smut, it's in Chapter 18





	1. 1981

## October 31st, 1981 – Godric’s Hollow

October 31st, 1981 – Godric’s Hollow

Darkness had long since settled over the rows of nestled houses in Godric’s Hollow. It was deep night and the stars that winked up above in the velvety purple-black sky seemed very far away. Crisp, cold air bit into what little exposed skin showed outside the leather jacket of the man dismounting a motorbike in the middle of a small front yard.

When the growl of the motorbike had died into the night, a heavy silence seemed to envelop the whole street. It hovered, like an oppressive, tangible force. Sirius Black’s boots hit the ground with a thud like the stroke on a drum. A tall, lean shadow, Sirius stepped away from his motorbike and across the lawn, his footfalls heavy in the frost-covered grass. Every step seemed to ring like the pounding of his heart as he crossed that yard. _Thud, thud, thud._

The Potters’ resident was ash and ruin. What had been a comfortable, modest home was nothing more than rubble. Support beams and exposed pipes lay across one another in piles of indistinguishable debris. Furniture melted into walls, belongings crumbled into charcoal, and the smell of fire, and power, and magic hung in the air.

Sirius picked his way through what had once been the western side of the house. His footsteps crunching bits of splintered wood and fragmented objects into the ground were still the only sounds. He stopped once to look up at the neighboring houses, but not one had so much as a candle lit in their windows.

Godric’s Hollow was not an entirely muggle town. Its impressive history and the ancestry that was still rooted in its cemetery had drawn a number of prominent wizarding families to the community, and yet no muggles or wizards, no house-elves or goblins, not so much as a stray dog had come to investigate the demolished house at the town’s center.

Sirius’s breath hitched as he made his way through the debris. He had to look down as he was going, because he was, of course, looking for something. Yet the prospect of what he might find under his feet terrified him. He knew the layout of what the house had once been, and it did not take him long to reach the spot he had known in his heart he must find. The Potters had painted the nursery a bright yellow. James had wanted it done in red and gold, but Lily had said that was too much pressure to put on a child. So they had painted it the color of the sunflowers that had once been growing in the front yard. Sirius had helped, and near the end the Potters’ cat had gotten into the paint and run across the hardwood floor, leaving a trail of pawprints behind it. Sirius and James had looked at each other and laughed, and before long a second pair of pawprints and one set of hoofprints decorated the floor. Even Lily loved it.

There was no sign of these yellow-tracks anymore. Indeed, the floor was reduced to splinters and scorch marks where the wood had turned black. One tiny piece of wall still stood, and it was against this yellow backdrop, striped now with soot, that Sirius found the remains of the crib.

Lily had made the crib herself out of holly. She’d used equal parts magic and muggle tools to build it, a combination that had fascinated and impressed James. “It’s a true half-blood crib,” Lily had said when Sirius asked her why she didn’t simply magic the thing together. “Crafted with magic, and my hands, and my love. It’s the safest thing I could make him.”

Lily’s body lay next to the crib, under shards of wood and blackened plaster. Her red hair cascaded out around her shoulders. Her green eyes were fixed open. She did not look peaceful in death, there was no pretending that it might be a sleep from which she would wake soon and grab Sirius by the shoulders, laughing and telling him to grow up. There was terror in her wide, dead eyes.

Sirius let out a dry sob, but turned his gaze away from the body of his friend. Lying only two feet from her, somehow free of rubble, was a tiny bundle of swaddling cloth. The long strips of holly wood that had once made the crib fanned out in a circle with this bundle at their center. Sirius knelt, and, his hands trembling, pushed back the cloth.

At one year old, Harry Potter was a small infant, even for his age. His eyes, wide and green like his mothers, were open too. As Sirius flipped back the blanket that had obscured him from the world, Harry’s eyes filled with tears and his tiny face scrunched into a red, blotchy circle of anguish. A thin red scar shaped like a lightning bolt stood out on his forehead. Harry’s cries broke the silence and Sirius stared at him in disbelief for several long seconds before he scooped his godson into his arms.

He had held Harry before, of course. Awkwardly, the first few times. He’d been afraid that he would drop him or hurt him. Sirius had never spent much time around children. His own younger brother had been close enough in age, and he’d never been the type of teenager people asked to babysit. Harry was different. Once the initial tentativeness had disappeared, Sirius had discovered he could make Harry laugh almost every time.

He held Harry to his chest now, clutched him as he wailed, and felt his own sobs threatening to break out. There was no sign of James, and Sirius would not look for him. He did not want to see his best friend’s body, not the way he had been forced to see Lily. And if Lily was dead, and Harry alone, then James was gone beyond a doubt. He would have put himself into any danger necessary, would have died a hundred times over before he would have let any harm come to his family. Sirius did not need to look to know that.

## November 1st, 1981 - North London

Harry cried himself to sleep as they flew over Bristol. Sirius had conjured a makeshift sling and tucked Harry close to his chest, zipping up his jacket halfway over the child. He had taken him to the last place he had ever thought he’d go back to – certainly the last place he ever thought he would bring Lily and James’ child to.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place stood as daunting and dreary as ever. Sirius hurried toward the dark stone face of the building, one hand placed protectively against Harry’s back, the other holding his wand in front of him. He had not been back to his parent’s home in over five years, not even for his brother’s funeral or his parents’ succedent deaths. Even so, it would be high on the list of suspect places to look for him.

Praying silently that Harry remained asleep, Sirius tapped his wand against the keyhole of the door and let them in to the hallway filled with house-elf heads. The smell of his childhood home, a combination of scents he had not breathed in for years filled him with a crippling sense of nostalgia for a moment as he stood on the threshold.

He tiptoed past the covered portrait of his mother, down the hall to the dining room and waved his wand to light the torches around the room. It was empty, silent, and dusty.

“Kreacher,” Sirius said through gritted teeth. A moment passed in quiet than a sharp “pop!” and the house-elf appeared in front of him.

If anything, the house-elf was more decrepit and foul than Sirius remembered him. The indeterminate material tied around his waist was gray and torn and did not appear as if it had been washed since the last time a member of the Black family had inhabited the house.

“Master Sirius,” Kreacher croaked, bowing low. With his back bent, he added in a mutter to the floor “What is the blood-traitor doing back in the house of his noble parents? Kreacher thought the filthy boy had died by now. Oh how disappointed Mistress will be to know her treacherous son sets foot in her home.”

“My mother won’t know anything at all, Kreacher,” Sirius snapped. “Now stand and up and tell me, are we the only ones in the house?”

Kreacher straightened as much as his frame allowed. “Who else would be here, Master Sirius? You are the House of Black’s final Secret Keeper.”

The words “Secret Keeper” felt like a punch to the gut. Sirius’ arm spasmed where he still clutched Harry to him. He ignored Kreacher’s muttered “And how Mistress would cry to think of it.”

“Go through this house, room by room and floor by floor. Check every closet, every conceivable hiding place. Then come back here and report to me when you’re sure no one else is here. Do you understand me, Kreacher?”

Kreacher’s wide, weepy eyes looked into his own. Then they trailed down to Sirius’ chest, where Harry’s head poked from inside his jacket.

“Who has Master Sirius brought home with him?” then, to the floor again, “Has Master Sirius continued the Black family line? Mistress swore no child of his would ever enter into her house…”

“Now, Kreacher!”

There was another “pop!” and the house-elf disappeared. Harry stirred at the sound and his eyes opened. He blinked up at Sirius and then began to thrash, crying and writhing against the restraint of the sling and jacket.

“Here now, Harry,” Sirius said, softly, undoing the makeshift carrier. He lifted his godson up and bounced him a few times in the air, but Harry continued to cry. He reached his small arms out and wrapped them around Sirius’ neck, one of his hands fisted in Sirius’ long curly hair.

“Mummy?” Harry cried into Sirius’ neck. “Mummy, mummy, mummy!”

“No, Harry. She’s not here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

There was no one else home. Kreacher promised that he had searched every room and floor as Sirius had instructed, muttering all the while about this child and the noise he was making. Sirius performed what examinations he could of the scar on Harry’s forehead. It was healed, not an open wound, and yet it had not been there just days before when Sirius had last gone to see Lily and James. Medicinal spells had never been Sirius’ strong suit. Even so, the scar did not seem to be directly causing Harry any pain.

After a while, Sirius managed to get Harry to drink some juice and he soon fell into another nap, exhausted from all the crying. Sirius conjured his and his brother’s old crib from the attic – a ludicrous thing with a marble engraving of the Black family crest on the side, lined with green and silver velvet. He cleaned off the dust and laid Harry down in it, where he curled up with his thumb in his mouth.

Sirius sat down in the floor of the dining room next to the crib and put his head in his hands.

Lily and James were dead. Lily, with her long red hair and her laugh and her kindness. A girl who had made him a better person, a better friend.

And James, with that mischievous glint in his eyes and his tousled hair. He was the best friend Sirius had ever had, the first real friend he’d ever made on his own, the first person to make him feel like he could be more than his family name.

The thought that Sirius’ grief and shock at finding Harry alive had kept away poured over him. _It was his fault._ All his fault. He knew what must have happened, what Peter must have done. A white hot anger flooded his veins, filling him with a desire he’d never known before. He wanted to kill Peter. He wanted him dead and he wanted to do it.

Sirius actually stood up, wand gripped tight in his hand. Then he glanced at the crib. Harry’s thumb was still in his mouth, his eyes closed, his breathing peaceful.

He remembered when James had asked him to be Harry’s godfather. He hadn’t so much asked as demanded it. They were out in the backyard after playing a bit of one-on-one quidditch the night that he’d learned Lily was pregnant. They’d put their brooms away and were drinking butterbeer on the back porch.

“Lily and I want you to be godfather for our child,” James had said abruptly. “You know, if anything ever happens to us. We’d want you to be the one to raise him.”

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it in silence. He cleared his throat. “James, I don’t know anything about children.”

James shrugged. “You’re my best friend. Lily’s too. We know you would take care of them. I know you’d do anything for them. That’s all that matters, that you’d do whatever it takes to keep them safe.”

Sirius looked at the Potter’s sleeping child now and let his wand hand relax. He couldn’t take revenge on Peter if he wanted to look out for Harry. He couldn’t go out and leave this child defenseless, couldn’t get himself killed or become a murderer. He wasn’t alone in the world, no matter how much it felt like it.

“One day, Wormtail, I swear it. I will make sure you feel the pain I am feeling,” Sirius whispered to his lowered wand.

It was only an hour or so later that the front door opened. Sirius heard it creak from where he sat in the kitchen and he snatched his wand up from the table. Soft footsteps of someone creeping down the hall came closer and closer. Sirius moved to stand in front of the crib, holding his wand raised and ready.

Remus Lupin pushed the door to the dining room open. His prematurely greying hair was ruffled and his eyes were red, but his own wand held in front of him was not shaking. The two men stood, pointing their wands at each other, neither speaking for what seemed like minutes.

“What shapes do the four Marauders take?” Sirius asked finally.

“Rat, Stag, Dog, and Wolf,” Remus answered without hesitation. “Where were we when I told you my greatest secret?”

Sirius smiled humorlessly and lowered his wand. “Your greatest secret, Remus? You have so many. It was October of our second year, you and I were caught outside in the grounds in a storm, sheltering beneath the same tree we all used to sit under every spring when the weather became warmer. It was the first time I ever saw you cry.”

Remus nodded, but did not lower his wand. “Sirius,” he said, and his voice broke. “How could you? Tell me how you could do this.”

Sirius shook his head. “If you let me explain…”

“Lily and James. Lily and James, _dead_. You were the only one who could have… who could have…”

“I did not kill them. Remus, please listen to me –” Sirius was cut off by the sound of Harry whimpering.

Remus’ eyes widened as they traveled past Sirius for the first time to the crib behind him.

“No,” he said, inhaling sharply. “It can’t be…”

Sirius turned and scooped up the waking toddler. Harry rubbed one tiny fist against his eyes, yawning, then blinked and looked around. The first smile Sirius had seen since he’d found him in the rubble of his old home broke across Harry’s face.

“Moon-moon!” he cried, reaching out his arms for Remus.

Remus’ face went pale. He gripped his wand tighter, still pointing it at Sirius. “Give Harry to me,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Put your wand away, Remus, and I will.” Harry was already squirming, trying to get to Remus.

Sirius could see the indecision in his friend’s face. Finally, Sirius put Harry down and let him toddle over to Remus, who immediately picked him up and clutched him tight, kissing the top of his head.

“Oh god. God, I thought you were dead,” Remus whispered, loud enough that Sirius could hear.

“Lily and James knew that You-Know-Who was coming for them,” Sirius said. “And too many people knew that I was James’ best friend, too many even knew I was their secret keeper. I thought… I thought we were being too obvious. I told James we should make a switch, transfer their secret to someone no one would ever expect, someone they could trust but weren’t seen with. I… I convinced him, just days ago, Remus. I was going to go on the run, I thought I could draw You-Know-Who and the death-eaters away from their home, lead him out of the country… I told James to use Peter – who would suspect a man like Peter of having great secrets?”

Sirius put his head in his hands. A dry sob ripped from his chest. “I thought he would have died rather than betray us, betray James, as James and I would have done for him. But Peter… I went to his house tonight to check on him and he wasn’t there. No sign of a struggle. I knew what he must have done, and I went to Godric’s Hallow as fast as I could. I don’t know how or for how long, but Peter did have secrets. Great and terrible ones.”

There was a silence. When Sirius looked up, Remus had lowered his wand.

“Why Peter?” he said. “Why not use me?”

Sirius averted his gaze to the dark, hardwood floor. “Forgive me, Remus.”

“I see.” Harry was tugging at Remus’ ears as he bounced him slightly with one arm. “Because of Greyback.” Remus’ face was pale, his lips pulled together in a thin white line.

“No. No, not because of that. It was never about that. It… I did not want to risk putting you in You-Know-Who’s path. Not because I mistrusted you – I of all people should know how close you can keep a secret. No, I did not suggest you because I did not want to burden you with yet another secret. I knew what you stood to lose, even if you did not lose your life. I thought Peter was the perfect unsuspected man, that he stood the least at risk.” Sirius sat back down on the floor next to the crib and drew his knees to his chest.

“I as good as killed them,” he whispered. “I’ll swear whatever oath you like that I am telling the truth, take veritiserum if you’ve got it, but it makes little difference. It was my idea to switch secret keepers and it killed Lily and James.”

Harry was wiggling in Remus’ arms again, and reluctantly he put him down. Harry tottered back over to Sirius and put one small hand on his cheek, patting him several times. “Sad Foot,” he said, continuing to pat him. Sirius gave something between a laugh and a sob and pulled Harry to his chest once again.

Remus sat down on the floor next to them. He reached over and smoothed Harry’s hair, although it made no difference. A sad smile played across his face. “He’s got James’ hair, that’s for sure. He’s going to look just like him, I’m afraid.” When Sirius made no comment, he continued. “Sirius, people are looking for you. And for Harry. You can’t just hide in here forever.”

“I know.”

“Dumbledore contacted me, asking if I’d heard from you.”

Sirius looked up at that. “Did you tell him where you were going when you came here?”

Remus shook his head. “No. I wanted to… Well, I thought I might kill you myself if it were true.”

Sirius gave a real, hearty chuckle at that. At his bark like laughter Harry looked between them both, smiling too. “That’s my boy,” Sirius said, reaching over and ruffling Remus’ already messy hair.

“But he’ll turn up here soon. He’s Dumbledore.”

“Even Dumbledore can’t get in here. You and I are the only ones alive who know where it is.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “What about Wormtail?”

Sirius shook his head. “I never brought him here. I never even brought James here. Just you, that once.”

“Oh.” Remus looked down at his hands. They were covered in half-crescent scars, as from fingernails or claws. Much of his body was like that. When the full moon overtook him, he was a wild beast, full of a power and brutality that seemed impossible for such a neat, soft-spoken man. “And I thought _that_ was a bad day.”


	2. 1981

## November 1st, 1981 - North London

Sirius fell asleep with his head in Remus’ lap, Harry still cradled against his chest and folded protectively beneath one arm. He woke, disoriented, to soft snores. Remus had one hand on the top of Harry’s head, the other tangled in Sirius’ hair. His back was to the monstrous crib, his face tilted up, eyes closed, snoring lightly. Harry was a warm and heavy weight on Sirius’ chest. The rest of his body ached from the hard, cold stone floor.

For a moment, Sirius had forgotten. He had fallen asleep on the Potters’ couches and floors many a night after one too many firewhiskeys, and it was not so unusual for Remus to be there in the morning either. For a moment, he thought his headache and dry eyes were a hangover. For a blessed moment, he thought he’d get up and find James in the kitchen making tea, Lilly out in the garden reading, both of them grateful for a proper night sleep with Harry under his charge.

But the hard, cold stone floor was all too familiar in a very different way than Godric’s Hollow. Sirius had curled up with his head in Remus’ lap earlier and cried himself to sleep as the shock finally hit him. He sat up now, careful not to wake Harry again - who must have needed to sleep off his own, worse shock from the night before. Sirius place Harry gently back into the crib, then stretched, wincing as his back popped. 

The house around them creaked and there was the scuffling of Kreature, off in some far corner, but otherwise it was quiet. Sirius walked around the great dining table and into the kitchen, waving his wand to light the lanterns hung on its walls. There was little in there. Some moldy biscuits in a silver tin, and a green and silver cup left in the sink half-full of a suspicious goo. Sirius had never been much good at cleaning or cooking spells. Lilly had teased him that this was because of his macho pride, and he’d let her, but in truth, how would he have known domestic spells? It wasn’t something they taught at Hogwarts, and his own parents had never cooked a day in their life - or at least not a day in his life. Lilly had practiced on her own because she wanted to know, but James, whose own mother was an excellent cook and whose father made the cleaning supplies dance as they worked, was still better than both of them. He’d tried to make Sirius learn a few simple spells - “ _For Merlin’s sake, Sirius, you can transfigure yourself into a giant, beastly dog, you can manage a loaf of bread_ ” - but it had never stuck. Perhaps because it had been more fun to see James exasperated and covered with flour, chasing Sirius around the kitchen with his wand in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other.

Sirius waved his wand and about half of the goo in the sink disappeared. Well, that was better than nothing. As for food, he might not be great shakes at cooking, but he was an excellent thief.

By the time, Remus stopped snoring and opened his eyes, Sirius had laid out a tray of tea complete with milk, sugar, and freshly-baked gingernewts. He’d also put out two plates of eggs, sausage, and hash. The plates were still steaming.

Remus got to his feet, muttering something as he cracked his neck from the uncomfortable position it had been in for a few hours. He looked at the food with his usual amount of reserved disapproval. “You knicked this, didn’t you?”

Sirius spread his hands innocently. “I’m not going to let Harry starve now, am I?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “If you had woken me up, I could have gone out and paid for food.”

Sirius did not comment on this, although he doubted that Remus could have paid for food, as a matter of fact. All of them, the four marauders and Lily, had joined the Order of the Phoenix directly after leaving Hogwarts. Being in the Order did not exactly pay in coin. Dumbledore made sure all of the members were fed and clothed, but beyond that, he didn’t go around handing out allowances. Peter had been the only child of a well-off family, so he’d been set up receiving monthly sums from his mother - or, now that Sirius thought about it, perhaps it had all been payment from You-Know-Who. In any case, they had never worried about Peter. When the rest of them had been discussing their plan to join the Order, and Remus had, very sensibly, brought up the question of how to balance a job and fighting against evil, James had only rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up,” he’d said. “I’ll take care of the rest of you.” When Lily and Remus had tried to protest, he’d only added “What is the point of having an inheritance if the world falls to the Death Eaters? What is my gold going to buy me then, huh? My parents would roll in their graves if I didn’t use their money to look out for the lot of you. Besides, it’s family money, and you’re all the family I’ve got.”

Sirius, who had been living with James and his parents since the summer before their sixth year, was the only one who made no protest at the idea of James paying for their every need. For one thing, the Potters’ had been looking out for him for some time already. Sure, it had been a little awkward in the beginning, but the Potters had always been kind to him, and when he’d shown up on their doorstep that summer’s day after running away, they’d all but adopted him. When James had been pulled out of class to receive news of their death, just six months prior, he’d come straight back for Sirius and the two of them had held each other like grieving brothers.

For another, he’d happened to overhear one of the muggle-born exchange students from Ilvermorny explaining the term “sugar daddy” to one of their friends, and he was already plotting just how best to pester James with it.

After that conversation, he’d wasted no time in teaching the term to the others and for months, right up until graduation, anytime James so much as passed a tissue to Sirius, Remus, or Lily, he was greeted with a “thanks, sugar daddy,” which they all delightedly refused to explain to him.

In any case, once they’d joined the Order, James had taken care of all of them. The wealth he’d inherited from his parents was considerable - the Potters were one of the oldest pureblood families. He’d paid for anything they needed, but they had insisted he keep the gold in his own account at Gringotts. It was still _his_ , after all. None of them wanted to forget that.

Which was all very well, but still meant that Remus and Sirius had very little pocket money on hand. Sirius glanced around Grimmauld Place’s dining room as he thought of this, realizing that there were a dozen or more things in this room alone that he could sell in Knockturn Alley for a handsome price. If there still was a Knockturn Alley. Sirius was just beginning to realize that he did not know how to live in a post-You-Know-Who world.

Remus had filled him in on Dumbledore’s theory before they’d fallen asleep: You-Know-Who had been defeated by the very boy asleep in Sirius’ old crib. You-Know-Who had gone to Godric’s Hollow to kill him, and Harry Potter had lived.

Harry Potter had lived.

“Remus,” Sirius said. “I need to talk to Dumbledore. Do you think he’ll listen?”

Remus stretched his shoulders and Sirius heard something pop. “I think he’ll have to. You should have seen him last night, when Hagrid got to Godric’s Hollow and Harry wasn’t there… I thought he’d explode. Actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so afraid. The whole Order is looking for you.” His expression turned guilty. “I ought to have sent word by now. I should have told the others I was looking for you in the first place, but…”

“But Dumbledore would have stopped you from going alone, and you might not have gotten the chance to kill me,” Sirius said simply. “That’s understandable.”

Remus rubbed his neck, his graying hair falling into his face. “Sirius,” he said. “What are we going to do about Peter?”

The name filled Sirius’ stomach with the same boiling rage of the night before. There was too much to think about, too much to feel - Lily and James, Peter’s betrayal, You-Know-Who’s sudden disappearance, Harry and that scar on his forehead…

Sirius’ impulse, again, was to run out into the street without a care for his own safety, to track Peter down through the sewers of London if he had to. To rip him limb from filthy limb with his jaws. Except that his safety, his life, wasn’t just his own any more.

“We have to tell Dumbledore,” Sirius said, clenching his fists. “He’ll know what to do.”

They ate their breakfast, although it was past noon. Harry woke up when Sirius was halfway through his plate, and he balanced him on one knee and helped him to guide forkfuls of egg into his open mouth.

He had thought, if truth be told, that he would be useless with kids. He had secretly thought that maybe he didn’t even like children. And then Harry had actually been born and he’d been a light brown baby with a scrunched up face, wild hair that threatened to grow just like his father’s, and his mother’s piercing green eyes, and Sirius knew immediately that he had never, and would never, love anything more in his life. The first time Harry fell asleep in his arms, Sirius had cried. James had to leave the room because he was laughing so hard he would have woken the baby, but Lily just grinned and told him it was his turn to change the next nappy.

For the most part, he’d gotten to be the fun uncle. They’d agreed, Remus was the professorial uncle who was going to teach Harry about theories behind spell work and magical creatures, Peter was the volunteer uncle who was going to let Harry practice wildly impractical spells on him, and Sirius was the fun uncle who was going to teach Harry how to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night, how to flirt with girls (or boys), and how to ride a (flying) motorbike.

And yet… they _had_ talked about this. They’d had to. The same night that James told Sirius he wanted him to be Harry’s godfather, he also relayed what Dumbledore had told them about a prophecy. The Potters knew that You-Know-Who was after them. James and Lily had both known what that meant. They had been face to face with Death Eaters over the past four years, even been in battles where You-Know-Who himself had been present.

“To die,” James had said when they’d had no choice but to reach the question of what would happen to Harry if he and Lily were killed. “Would be an awfully big-”

“I swear to Godric, Prongs” Sirius had growled. “If you quote Peter Pan to me _one more time_.”

“- adventure,” James finished, and ducked as Sirius threw the cap from his butterbeer at him.

Other than that moment, it had been a serious conversation, more or less.

“But I’ll forget to feed him,” Sirius had said, vaguely panicked about the potential responsibility of a child in his care.

“He won’t let you forget, don’t worry,” Lily had said drily.

“But he’ll have to grow up with me as a _parent_ figure,” Sirius had said. “ _The_ parent figure. Who is he supposed to look up to? Who is supposed to set rules? All my parents ever taught me was how not to be a parent.”

“And how to duck,” James reminded him.

“And how to duck,” Sirius amended.

Lily shot a look at James. She’d developed several patented looks over the years. This one had said _I don’t think you’re being very sensitive_.

“Sirius, you’d be a wonderful father, if it came to it,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t, of course, but there’s no one else I’d trust to look at after our son. Not even Dumbledore, not even my own sister.”

“Well, that’s hardly saying much,” Sirius muttered. Lily ignored him.

“I’m not saying you wouldn’t make mistakes or that you won’t have some growing up to do.” She winked at him there, although it was true enough. “But a baby makes you grow up. What matters to me is that you love Harry, and that’s… that’s what I worry about. There are plenty of people in the Order who could take care of him, keep him clothed and fed and teach him how to read, but…” she broke off for a moment. It was one of the only moments Sirius ever saw Lily Evans-Potter choked up in her life. “But who is going to make sure he’s loved? Really loved?”

Sirius hadn’t argued much after that.

Once Harry had eaten his fill of eggs and sausage (and gingernewts, over Remus’ protests - James had fed Harry biscuits all the time), he set to teetering around the table, exploring the dining room. Sirius kept an eye on him, although there were few things in this room within a one year-old’s reach. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was not exactly a child-proof house, and Sirius was suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of work he would have to do in order to keep Harry here. If he were even allowed to keep Harry here. It had sunk in over breakfast that for the moment, Sirius Black was likely one of the most wanted men in Britain - after You-Know-Who, of course. He was not even sure that Dumbledore would believe his innocence. He had, after all, more or less kidnapped Harry without a word to anyone in the Order. Even Dumbledore had not known about the plan to switch secret-keepers and Sirius had not behaved like an innocent man. But Sirius had trusted Peter, trusted him over anyone else in the Order besides Remus. He was not sure that he would ever trust another person again.

Remus agreed to return to the Order to explain what had happened and where Harry was. Sirius scribbled down the address of the house on an old scrap of parchment he found in one of the studies on the first floor, and Remus tucked it into his pocket, promising to show it to Dumbledore and no one else. Sirius balanced Harry on one hip and started up the stairs as soon as he heard the front door open, but he had only gone two steps when Remus called his name in a low voice.

Wincing at the creak in the steps, Sirius tiptoed back into the hall, hoping fervently that Harry stayed quiet and complacent on his side. Remus was holding the door opened and there was a bemused look on his face.

“What is it?” Sirius asked, his heart thumping. He half-expected to see death-eaters outside the door or even You-Know-Who himself. Instead, he looked out into the grey November morning and saw a lone, tall figure standing on the other side of the street, staring at the place where Number 12 would be.

Sirius knew that Albus Dumbledore could not see the house itself, but he was looking, nonetheless, between Numbers 11 and 13. A tabby cat sat at his feet, as eerily unmoving as the wizard.

“Well, that's convenient,” Sirius said, feeling a chill creep up his spine. It was a cool, North London November day, but he was sweating. He'd never been afraid of Dumbledore exactly. He and James had pulled enough stunts at Hogwarts that they had at least quarterly meetings with the headmaster until their last year and a half, but even with those lectures Dumbledore had always seemed to him more of a benevolent uncle figure. Eccentric and odd to say the least, with the ability to be stern when the occasion warranted it, but never a threat.

Now that he was staring down Sirius’ doorway, Sirius could easily remember why Dumbledore was the only wizard You-Know-Who had ever feared.


	3. 1981

## November 1st, 1981 - North London

Dumbledore did not move right away when Sirius stepped off of Number 12’s stoop. He stood straight-backed and still, his hands at his sides, no wand in sight. The cat at his feet arched her back, the fur on her tail puffing out, but she did not move towards him.

“Hullo, Professors,” Sirius called across the street, raising his hand in greeting. He could feel Remus’ eyes on his back from the hidden doorway, could hear Harry’s soft murmuring sounds. His own wand was in his hand. He tried to keep some of his usual bravado in his voice, but worried that he sounded as sleep-deprived and shattered as he felt.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said, his tone affable. “Are you going to invite us in?” His voice had a way of carrying, even when he wasn’t raising it, in the same way he could make students feel ashamed of their antics without saying a word.

“Before I do, what did you tell me the first time I was brought to your office at Hogwarts?” Sirius didn’t really think there was much point to asking - if someone had gotten close enough to take what was needed to impersonate Albus Dumbledore, than the entire wizarding world was in trouble - but he did it more out of a sense of good form.

Dumbledore’s long silver hair and beard glinted in the afternoon sunlight and behind his half-moon spectacles his blue eyes were flashing with something Sirius couldn’t name.

“I believe I told you to bear in mind that bravery is only one of Gryffindor’s values, and that bravery in the absence of a just cause is at best foolhardy.”

Sirius and James had gone skinny-dipping in the lake at midnight near the end of their first month at Hogwarts, and had to be rescued from a group of particularly raucous grindylows by a very annoyed Professor McGonagall.

“A philosophy I did learn eventually,” Sirius said. He crossed the street and whispered the address of his once, and seemingly future, home into Dumbledore’s ear. He looked down at that cat, tempted to pick her up in order to talk to her face to face since she seemed in no mood to change forms out there on the street. Some people might have said that it was impossible to read a cat’s face, but Sirius was fairly certain from the look on this one’s that if he entertained the notion of picking her up he would be in for a world of pain. He bent down instead and she braced both front paws on his knee so that he could murmur the address once more into her ear. Without a word, the two of them followed him back across the street and up the front steps into the dimly lit house.

“Not here,” Sirius whispered in the hallway, gesturing for Remus, Dumbledore, and the cat to follow him. The silent walk back into the dining room only made him more nervous than ever. The fact that Dumbledore had not cursed him on the spot seemed like a good sign, but his demeanor was always so unreadable.

When Sirius had closed the door to hall behind them, he turned around to find that Minerva McGonagall had taken human form and was holding a wand in his face.

“Sirius Pollux Black,” McGonagall said, and Sirius was surprised to hear the emotion in her voice. In all the years that he had known her, in all the hijinks that the Marauders had put her through, he had never heard her voice shake like that. “I ought to turn you into pond scum.”

“Minerva.” It was Remus who spoke first. Even though they had all been in the Order together, been in actual battle together, Sirius could never bring himself to call McGonagall by her first name. Remus, being more assured in his adulthood having been born with the maturity of most grandfathers, had adapted to the informality rather better. “He brought Harry here to keep him safe. He isn’t the one who -”

“Well of course he isn’t,” McGonagall snapped, not taking her wand out of Sirius’ face. It was making him go rather cross-eyed. “But you couldn’t have sent a message? A patronus? An owl? A cursed street pidgeon? For Merlin’s sake, Black, didn’t you realize the rest of us were going mad looking for Harry?” She pulled her wand hand back, and for a brief moment, Sirius thought she was winding up to slap him with it. He flinched and a touch of guilt crept into McGonagall’s face. “I thought he must have died with Lily and James,” she added in a softer voice. “We needed to know you were both safe, Sirius.”

Harry, having been silent and slightly cowed with the arrival of more adults, attempted to wiggle out of Remus’ hold, reaching out his arms for Sirius. Sirius took him, balancing him on one hip again so that Harry could look out at the rest of the room safely from under his arm.

“I know,” Sirius said. “I know, I’m sorry, it was…” The image of Lily’s pale, blank face among the rubble flashed into his mind and he pressed the palm of his free hand to his forehead.

“What happened?” Dumbledore spoke at last. “How did Voldemort find the Potters?”

And so Sirius told them about the plan that had seemed brave to him at the time and now seemed unbearably foolhardy. He had planned to leave the country the night before, to let it slip where he was once he’d crossed into Germany. The plan had been to dance the death eaters slowly down to Pakistan where his Uncle Alphard’s friend had a safehouse he could disappear in for a time. He was trying to buy James and Lily time while Dumbledore, the rest of the Order, and even the Ministry, scrambled to find an upperhand against You-Know-Who.

“Peter was the perfect man,” Sirius said. “We thought he was loyal to a fault. He was always ready to do whatever we asked, no matter how hard it was for him to keep up. James nearly died for him last spring, when our lead on the Lestranges turned out to be a trap. I should have known somehow, but I trusted him completely. We all did.” Sirius looked pleadingly into Dumbledore’s unmoving face. “Dumbledore, I would have died rather than betray them. You must know that.”

Dumbledore spent another pensive moment looking at him. It was difficult to maintain eye contact with a man like Dumbledore. There was too much power in him.

At last, Dumbledore nodded. “I do know that.” He sighed, a deep, long sigh of a man who has been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders with no end in sight. “One of the first things we must do, then, is send the aurors out after Peter. He must not be allowed to escape. But the first thing, the very first thing… May I see Harry, please, Sirius?”

Sirius looked down at the child clinging to his side. Harry was looking at Dumbledore with his green eyes wide. “Can I hand you to Dumbledore, Harry?” he asked the infant, trying to shift him towards the other wizard. Harry gripped tiny fistfuls of Sirius’ shirt and shook his head, jet black curls flopping everywhere.

“Harry, I’m going to touch your forehead. I promise it will not hurt,” Dumbledore said in a soft voice and laid one long finger against the lightning bolt scar. It stood out dark red against Harry’s brown skin, the snaking lightning tendrils almost like veins. Harry obediently allowed Dumbledore to touch his face, staring up at him all the while. Dumbledore gently tapped his wand against the scar once, twice, thrice. Nothing happened. Dumbledore let nothing of his thoughts into his face, and if he discovered anything unusual about the mark, he did not say.

“This is no ordinary scar,” he said at last, putting his wand away. “Only a killing curse could do this.”

“Then it’s true,” McGonagall said. Her voice was still unsteady. “The boy survived _Avada Kedavra_? Dumbledore, it’s never been done.”

“It has now,” Dumbledore said, still calm. “Not only did Harry survive Voldemort’s attack, the curse must have been reflected back on its caster. The force of the deflection was strong enough to destroy the Potter’s house, leaving only Harry untouched.”

“Then You-Know-Who is dead?” Remus asked quietly. He came to stand next to Sirius, gripping him at the elbow as if for support.

Dumbledore shook his head. He looked, all of a sudden, like a very tired, old man. He was old, Sirius knew, far older than most people realized. He and James had tried, unsuccessfully, to discover his birthday for years. He still was uncertain of the Headmaster’ exact age. “I do not think so,” Dumbledore said heavily. “I have a theory, a theory and nothing more, but I do not believe that Lord Voldemort was human enough to die last night.”

Sirius, Remus, and McGonagall all looked at Dumbledore in a shocked silence for several long, tense seconds.

It was Remus who asked “Not human?” Sirius half-expected him to raise his hand as if clarifying a point in class.

“I could be wrong, and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken, but it is my belief that Voldemort has been attempting over the years to make himself immortal. The precise process by which he has chosen to experiment is an act so heinous, so unforgivable that it ruptures the very soul.” Dumbledore held up one hand. “But the details of this are a conversation for another time. What matters now is that if Voldemort is alive, and I think it very likely, then he will be reduced to a nearly incorporeal state - not dead, but not truly alive. Vanquished, for the time being, but not destroyed. He will be mostly powerless until one of his followers can find and restore him to his body. We must begin immediately to round up the Death Eaters. They are in disarray, leaderless, and terrified. An unknown child has just destroyed the greatest force of evil ever to exist in the wizarding world. If there is any cohesive action left in their ranks, they will come after Harry. We must make him unreachable .”

Dumbledore turned those piercing blue eyes on Sirius again. “There is only one explanation I can think of for what happened in Godric’s Hollow last night,” he said, as if speaking only to Sirius. “And it is that Lily Evans-Potter sacrificed herself to save her son. In doing so, she tapped into a magic older than any other, stranger and stronger than spells, and largely forgotten, even by someone as power-hungry as Voldemort. That kind of sacrifice, that act of love, leaves a mark. An imprint. When Voldemort’s spell touched that imprint, it backfired. Lily’s sacrifice worked, it protected Harry through an ancient magic that even the most powerful wizard could not break.

“And her sacrifice will continue to protect him. Voldemort will not be able to touch him. Not as long as he is under her roof, or the house of her family.”

Remus’ grip on Sirius’ arm tightened, but Sirius did not understand what Dumbledore was saying at first.

“Sirius, I know that you will wish to keep the boy with you, but he must go to live with Lily’s sister. She is the last living member of his family and the only way to keep Lily’s sacrifice alive.”


	4. 1981

## November 1st, 1981 - North London

If Sirius hadn’t been holding Harry, and Remus had not been gripping his other arm so tightly, he might have drawn his wand. All the blood seemed to rush into his head, and for a moment he felt a sensation similar to that before a duel, like he might start seeing red.

“Harry James Potter, go live with the _Dursleys_?” He yelled. Harry whimpered in his arm and turned his face into Sirius’ chest. “Lily and James’ son raised by muggles? Not just muggles, bloody uncaring, unthinking, disturbed pieces of trash? Those muggles?”

“It is the safest place for him,” Dumbledore said, and Sirius wanted to sock that calm face and knock those half-moon spectacles right off.

“Safer than the spells that have protected this house for hundreds of years? Safer than with a wizard who could protect him if your theory turns out not to be true? Safer than with those who actually give a flying snidget about his well-being? Are you out of your mind?”

“Sirius,” Remus said, pulling heartily on his arm, but Sirius ignored him. He didn’t care that Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard alive, or that he owed him his life and his loyalty on more than one level. He didn’t care that Dumbledore could probably kill him with a properly aimed sneeze and a flick of his wand. The child in his arms was his responsibility now.

“I’m his godfather,” Sirius said. “Harry belongs with me.”

“Believe me, I take no pleasure in the idea of Harry being raised by his aunt and uncle,” Dumbledore said, unflappable as ever. “But the truth is that he will have a greater protection there than any you could give him.”

“Albus.” McGonagall looked from Harry to Dumbledore with a pained expression on her face. “Living with muggles, not knowing who he truly is… He will be famous. Every child in our world will know his name. Even now, witches and wizards all around the country are celebrating, toasting to Harry Potter.”

“Precisely,” Dumbledore said. “He will be far better off growing up away from all of that.”

“BETTER OFF?!” Sirius roared, and Harry began to cry. “Better off being raised by people who hate what he is? You know his aunt Petunia, Dumbledore, she wouldn’t even attend her own sister’s wedding. She is terrified of magic. You’re talking about sending him off to people who won’t be able to explain what’s happening to him when his magic begins to show. You think he could be better off not knowing why he can do things that other children can’t, why he is different from everyone else? You think that having to suppress who he really is for every waking moment of his life will leave him undamaged? It won’t. Even if Petunia takes him in, she will always be afraid of him. She will never love him like family should. I won’t let Harry grow up thinking that he is a burden. I won’t let him grow up thinking that he is alone. That’s not what Lily died for.”

Harry’s wails reverberated around the room, even muffled as they were in Sirius’ shirt. He could only clutch him to his side, the terror of the last twenty-four hours writhing in his own insides like a snake. He didn’t know which was stronger, the fear or the rage.

“Sirius,” Remus said again, and Sirius tore his eyes from Dumbledore’s infuriatingly calm face to look at him. “If going to the Dursleys could keep Harry alive… shouldn’t we at least discuss it?”

Rage was definitely stronger. Sirius’ insides stopped writhing as they turned to ice. Peter’s betrayal, and now Remus’. “I’ll keep Harry alive,” Sirius said, his voice cold.

Remus blinked, taken aback by the venom in his tone. “I know, I’m not questioning that. I’m only saying that we ought to hear Dumbledore out.”

Sirius turned away from him and took a step closer to Dumbledore. “Harry stays with me,” he said with every ounce of righteousness he could muster. “It’s what Lily and James wanted. He’s better off with me, and if you want to take him you’ll have to do it over my dead body.”

“Black,” McGonagall said, in her most reasonable tone, but Dumbledore raised one hand again and the room fell silent except for Harry’s muffled cries.

“We have a common goal to keep Harry alive,” he said, and for the first time that night, Sirius understood the colossal emotion that had been flashing in his eyes. It was a grief so deep it almost bowled Sirius’ own loss over. “There has been far too much death around him already. You are right to want to honor Lily and James’ wishes. After all, you knew them best. You will not be alone in protecting him, Sirius. I promise you that. The Order will do everything in its power to keep harm from coming to him. If you allow it, we can add precautions to this house, although it seems your family was very, uh, thorough.”

Sirius nodded curtly. He shifted Harry so that he was draped over his shoulder and rubbed his back, his own head pounding with the tempo of his cries. Dumbledore and McGonagall stayed for a time after that, going over the floors of the house and casting protective spells. Sirius caught a glimpse of McGonagall pointing her wand at the house-elf heads in the hallway and he sincerely hoped she wasn’t casting the same sort of spells he knew (from an experiment with James that went very, very wrong) animated the gargoyles at Hogwarts when the school was under attack.

Remus went with Dumbledore, allowing Sirius to calm Harry down again in private. He changed Harry’s nappy (Lily would have chastised him for doing it on the dining room table, but there wasn’t much choice and the floor was too cold), and made shushing sounds while he rocked him for awhile. Harry’s red and gold onesie was grimy with ash. Sirius’ cleaning spell made some difference, but it was enough to make him realize just how much he did not have in way of baby needs. No clothes, no pram (was Harry too old for a pram now anyway?), no papoose (surely he still needed a papoose?). He’d only remembered he and his brother’s old cot because it was a Black Family relic. He could not imagine his mother had kept any of his old things, although there was a chance she might have held onto something from when Regulus was Harry’s age.

Dumbledore and McGonagall said their goodbyes. Dumbledore shook Sirius and Remus’ hands and told them he would be in touch. McGonagall, somewhat to Sirius’ shock, kissed the top of Harry’s head, and then to his utter bafflement, kissed Sirius’ cheek.

“Take care of yourself too, Black,” she said stiffly. Sirius nodded mutely, and watched them leave.

It wasn’t until they were gone that he trusted himself to look at Remus. Remus did not seem to be particularly aware of the roaring in Sirius’ ears. He sat down at one of the long benches at the table again, putting his head in hands.

“Ah, Sirius,” he said to the floor. Sirius thought that something might follow this, but nothing did. Harry was still awake, but Sirius put him down in the cot and he stayed standing there, clinging to the sides, only his curls peeping over the top.

“Would you have let them do it?” Sirius asked. He was trembling. A part of him underneath the exhaustion, shock, fear, and grief, told him that he was being unreasonable. But to find that part, he would have had to go digging through all those emotions, and being angry was much simpler.

Remus raised his head, his eyebrows drawn together. “What?”

“Would you have let Dumbledore give Harry to _those people_?” He spat the last two words out, trying to imbue them with as much disgust as he could muster.

“I wouldn’t have helped him to take Harry from you, Sirius, don’t be ridiculous.”

“And if I wasn’t here to stand in the way of it? If James and Lily and I were all dead and it was just Harry alone in the world, would you have let him go then?”

The surprise in Remus’ face turned to pain. “You are not the only person who cares about Harry,” he said quietly. “Dumbledore only wants to protect him, like we all do.”

“Sending Harry into a life of neglect, at best, _at best_ , Remus, that’s what you call caring about him?”

Remus tugged at his own hair, clearly frustrated. “Look, if you weren’t here, I might have at least heard Dumbledore out. That’s all I’m saying. I want Harry to be happy, but if living with his aunt and uncle would protect him, would mean the difference in saving his life, then yes, I might have let him go. I don’t like it, but I couldn’t keep him safe against Voldemort, and if living with the Dursleys could do that…”

“You only say that because you didn’t grow up unwanted.” Sirius knew it wasn’t a fair thing to say. Remus’ parents hadn’t really known what to do with their son’s _condition_ , although they had honestly tried their best. They had let him go to Hogwarts when the letter came, even though they were terrified what might happen if Remus was found out at school. They’d made an effort to understand the son they had rather than the child they thought they should have gotten. Even so, clueless harm was still painful.

“Sirius…”

“Just… Just go, Remus. I’m exhausted and I have a child to raise.”

Remus looked as if Sirius had slapped him. “I’m as good as his uncle, too.” 

“I’m his godfather.” Sirius turned away, staring determinedly at the puffs of black hair sticking up above the silver and green enamel bars of the cot. “And anyone who would let a baby of their best friend go to a house where he’ll be lied to and rejected his whole life is not someone I trust with my godson.”

He’d thought Remus would argue. He’d half-hoped he might even throw a punch or a spell at him. The pain in Sirius’ chest was ready to explode. He wanted to let it out, wanted to fight, wanted his sole remaining friend to pummel him senseless on this horrible, familiar floor. Anything, to let all that pain go.

But Remus didn’t fight him. He didn’t say another word. He left, leaving Sirius alone with a house full of ghosts, a baby without an instruction manual, and a supernova inside his chest.


	5. 1981

## November 4th, 1981 - North London

Sirius did not leave Number 12 Grimmauld Place for three very long days. He did try to, once, on the second day when his summoning charm for nappies stopped working (Number 7, Grimmauld Place having unexpectedly run out quicker than usual). But then he stood in the hallway with his hand on the door, unable to open it. His heart was beating hard in his chest, so hard he wondered if Harry could hear it, in his arms once more. He'd found it difficult to put Harry down. For one thing, Harry seemed to want to be held more than usual. He cried more, too, even when properly fed, watered, and changed. He'd never been a particularly fussy baby, but he’d taken to sitting on the floor wailing at moments when everything seemed to be fine. They took more naps than usual, and it seemed to help when Sirius gave up on the cot and just lay in bed with Harry cuddled against his chest. Being alone was too hard on both of them.

Sirius stood with Harry at the door for minutes, his thoughts racing. _Open the damn door, Black, it's not that difficult,_ Sirius tried to tell himself. But a part of him was certain that the street outside would be lined with Death Eaters waiting for him to emerge, to kill him and take Harry.

Ultimately, it was easier to wait for the muggles at Number 7 to go shopping.

Sirius would have thought that he'd be itching to get out of the house where he'd been so miserable as a child, but he suspected it would be the only place that he felt even remotely safe for some time. The irony was not lost on him.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Remus being the only people able to even see the house, no one stopped by with condolence casseroles, but Sirius did receive more owls in those few days than he had in his life. Most of them were addressed to him, but a few were addressed to “Harry Potter” or to “The Guardian of Harry Potter” or to “The Boy Who Lived,” as the wizarding world had apparently taking to calling him. Sirius listened to the wizarding wireless radio obsessively, feeling a tiny bit of gravity move back under his feet with every named Death Eater who had been rounded up and sentenced to Azkaban.

Most of the letters actually meant for Sirius came from others in the Order, like Dedalus Diggle and Marlene McKinnon, or from friends of the Potters. Frank and Alice Longbottom sent a long letter expressing their condolences and reminded Sirius that their own son, Neville, was nearly Harry’s age, should he ever wish to bring Harry round for tea when things were calmer.

On the third day, Harry was down for his afternoon nap, curled into Sirius’ chest and drooling all over him, when Sirius heard the door opening downstairs. He sat up, carefully swooping Harry up in his blanket. Harry smacked his mouth loudly, but did not wake, even when Sirius gently lowered him into the abandoned cot in the corner of his old bedroom.

Wand out, Sirius crept down the staircase, moving from memory to avoid the creakiest of stairs. He braced himself and slipped off the last stair into the hall, only to find Remus there, carefully locking each of the seven bolts on the front door. Sirius slipped his wand back into his pocket, wanting instantly to return for Harry. The boy hadn’t been in a room away from him since he’d scooped him out of the rubble.

There was a battered old trunk at Remus’ feet that Sirius recognized immediately as the same one he’d brought every year to Hogwarts. He had a rucksack on his back with patches on both the front and bottom where it had frayed away with age, and he was holding a bulging plastic shopping bag in the hand not tapping wand against locks.

“What are you doing?” Sirius hissed, and Remus jumped.

“Merlin, I didn’t hear you come up,” Remus whispered, sweeping some of his hair back from his face and giving Sirius a small smile. “Hello.” He held up the grocery bag. “We’ll have to do a real trip, but I thought I’d start with dinner since I’m sure all you’ve been feeding Harry is biscuits and milk.”

“Moony, why is your luggage in my hallway?” Sirius strode over and pushed at the trunk with the toe of his boot. He stood a good 4 inches taller than Remus, who looked up at him without any trace of lingering resentment.

“I’m moving in,” he said simply. When Sirius just blinked at him, he continued, “I’m choosing to ignore your outburst the other night. We’re both grieving, Sirius. I know what James was to you, but he was like my brother too. And Lily, like a sister. I think I’m even grieving for Peter, in a way. We lost them all in one night and I cannot imagine what I would do if I were alone in this. So I’m not going to hold your being an idiot against you. You’re going to need help, raising a child. So, here I am, helping.” He lifted the grocery bag again for emphasis.

“I could look out for him alone,” Sirius said stubbornly. He felt a little weak with relief. He could barely remember why he’d been mad at Remus, truth be told.

“Sure you could,” Remus said, placating him. “But you don’t have to.”

Sirius nodded, looking at his friend in his tattered clothes and worn luggage holding, presumably, what little he possessed in the world. Before he’d quite decided to do it, he was sweeping Remus up in a bone-crushing hug.

Remus let out a slightly breathless laugh and patted him on the back. “Alright, lad,” he said quietly. Sirius didn’t let go, but he loosened his hold slightly, burying his face in his friend’s neck.

Plenty of people had looked oddly at James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter for laying all over each other in the Gryffindor common room or out on the grounds on sunny days, but really, they ran around on all fours once a month. It didn’t seem that odd to cuddle other blokes when you could turn into a dog. Even before they’d become a pack of animals, they’d been more physically affectionate with each other than was perhaps normal. It started their first year, when an eleven-year-old James crawled into Sirius’ four-poster bed one night in November.

Sirius had nightmares. He’d had them for most of his life where he’d wake up sweating and panting in the middle of the night with his whole body tensed. He’d never realized that he screamed, too, until he’d come to Hogwarts. He hadn’t realized he was waking his friends up until that November night when he’d woken up in his usual cold sweat, fists clenched at his side, and heard James’ bed frame creak across from his. James got up with a little sight, pulled aside Sirius’ covers, and lay down next to him, tossing the blankets back up over them both.

“What are you doing?” Sirius had whispered, mortified.

“It’s what my mum always did whenever I had bad dreams,” James had whispered back, his head already pillowed against Sirius’ shoulder, his wild curls tickling his cheek. “So you’re not alone in your nightmares.”

Sirius was going to protest that that wasn’t how dreams worked, but James’ breath was already returning to its regular, slow rhythm, and it was the first time in a very long time that Sirius could remember anyone holding him. Besides, he didn’t really want James to get up. Having him there helped him calm down from the nightmare in a way nothing else had.

It hadn’t seemed that weird when they were eleven. Cuddling was just something they did from time to time when Sirius woke up gasping for air from another dream about darkness and blood. By the time they were old enough to be self-conscious about cozying up to one another, all four of them had already been through so much together that it had really felt very low on the list of things to worry about.

Besides, being able to turn into a dog at will had also changed Sirius’ sense of smell. It wasn’t as powerful in human shape, and he’d never fully understood it, but the people he was closest to, _his_ people, always smelled like home.

It was while he was inhaling the particular scent of _wolf-chocolate-home_ from Remus’ neck that the grocery bag broke and a can of black beans fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Sirius had barely started to pull back from Remus when the curtain over his mother’s portrait just a few feet away sprang to the side.

Walberga Black’s wide, olive-toned face with her beady black eyes was exactly as Sirius remembered it, down to the look of furious disgust.

“Oh brother,” Sirius muttered, grabbing one side of the velvet curtains and trying to yank it back to center. It would not budge.

“ _YOU!_ ” his mother screamed at him, her eyes dancing wildly from him to Remus. “ _Filth_ . _Bloodtraitor. You dare to sully the halls of the Black family house with your putrid blood?! I swore the day you left was the last time a disgusting, sliming, poof would contaminate the noble and most ancient -_ ”

“Help me with this, will you?” Sirius shot over his shoulder to Remus who seemed frozen under the portrait’s glare. He hurried forward and together they managed to draw the curtain closed once more over Sirius’ mother's continued screams.

The minute the curtain covered her face, the house dropped into dead silence. Sirius glanced at Remus and saw that his cheeks were flushed.

“Oh come on,” he said with a forced grin. “That wasn’t even that bad.”

Upstairs, Harry began to cry. Sirius had already started toward the stairs when Remus put a hand on his shoulder.

“Sirius, when is the last time you slept? Or ate a proper meal? Or took a bath? Don’t even bother answering that last one. You smell like something died in your hair. I don’t know how Harry can stand it. Please, I am begging you, let me go get the baby, and you can take your time cleaning up.”

Sirius hesitated. “He needs a lot of attention right now.”

Remus rolled his eyes and pushed past him, heading for the staircase. “Like godfather, like godson,” he called back in a whisper, and Sirius felt himself smile for the first time in days.


	6. 1981

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content Warning*: This chapter contains some explicit depiction of abuse

## November 4th - December 4th, 1981 - North London

Sirius nearly fell asleep in the shower. The scalding water and soap did make him feel slightly more human again, and he took his time scrubbing every inch of himself that he could reach. He took particular care to wash his hair, letting both the shampoo and conditioner sit for ten minutes each. He’d started growing his hair out when he was nine or so, just to annoy his mother. She didn’t believe boys ought to have long hair. There were a lot of things she hadn’t believed boys, and particularly a boy from the noble and most ancient house of Black, should do. Various hairstyles had been on the list, as had wearing black nail polish, speaking with muggle children at the park down the way, listening to muggle music, being sorted into a house other than Slytherin, and befriending bloodtraitors. Among many other things. Naturally, Sirius had turned out to like doing all of these. 

He knew he was little vain - well, maybe quite vain - about his hair and the haughty good looks that he’d inherited from both of his parents. He tried not to think too much about the resemblance between his mother and father, who’d both had tan olive complexions, thick black hair, heavyset dark brows, and brown eyes. Orion and Walberga Black were cousins - some distance removed, but not nearly far enough removed for Sirius’ comfort. Most of the old pureblood families were related to one another and inbred to some degree. Sirius and James had been pretty sure they were very distantly related through a shared Potter relative, but had never been able to prove it. 

At any rate, Sirius looked very much like his father, a fact he had never been overfond of, and a bit like his uncle Alphard, the token unmarried uncle who’d always seemed to have a soft spot for Sirius, even though they barely knew each other. Alphard had been away most of Sirius’ childhood, working as a cursebreaker in Pakistan, but he’d visited on just enough occasions for other relatives to remark that they had the same jaw. 

Sirius gave himself a bit of a blowout with his wand, straightening his hair so that it fell to the bottom of his shoulders in one long dark curtain. He stood looking at himself shirtless in the mirror for awhile with just a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Get a grip, Black,” he told his reflection. “James and Lily are dead.” His stomach ached at the words. “They’re dead, and you better get used to it.” His reflection looked back at him, haughty and proud on the surface and breaking apart beneath. “This is what you get now. You get to be a father to your dead best friend’s son and you better shape up quick, because you are not James, and you are not ready, and Harry needs better. Get a damn grip.” 

It was not a terribly sophisticated pep-talk, but it was going to have to do. Sirius went into his old bedroom and fished out a musty smelling pair of black jeans and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, leftover clothes from his teenage years. Wearing muggle band t-shirts had been quite the act of rebellion when he was fifteen. 

The jeans were tighter than they might once have been, but, really, it hadn’t been so very long ago that he’d been a teenager. He padded softly down the stairs in search of Remus and found him in the kitchen with a pot of boiling water on the stove, and Harry on the floor playing with a set of measuring cups. Remus had his back to the stove and was singing Harry an old wizarding children’s song: 

“Netty Prewitt

Don’t overdo it 

You’ll turn your friends to stone. 

With a flick of your wand

They’ll all be gone,

And you’ll be left alone...” 

Sirius leaned in the kitchen doorway, his heart clenching as Remus smiled down at Harry, who in turn was babbling along with baby sounds to the basic rhythm of the song. Harry had only just started talking back in June and it was still mostly nouns at this point. He had down “daddy,” “mummy,” “Foot,” and “Moon-Moon,” along with “broo”, which they assumed meant broom, and “kitty” for the Potter’s cat. He’d sort of gotten to the point of calling Peter “Wumtah” as that was as close as he could get with the letter R. 

Remus looked so at home, singing that stupid song, and Harry seemed so content to bang the measuring cups (where had those come from, anyway?) against the floor while he muttered along to himself. It hurt Sirius’ chest in a way that was part love for them both and part tragedy that they were here at all. 

“That’s a terrible song,” Sirius said from the doorway and Remus jumped a little. Harry glanced up and smiled at his godfather, but he didn’t move from the floor. “I can’t believe we sing it to children.” 

“It’s supposed to be a cautious tale,” Remus said, turning to his boiling saucepan. “And I can hardly believe anyone ever sung it to you, or maybe you would have been more cautious as a child.” 

“Oh they sung it to me,” Sirius said, going to sit on the floor with Harry, placing a hand on his back. He was wearing a clean onesie with ducks on it and had apparently been freshly bathed himself while Sirius had been in the shower. “I just found it more inspiring than anything else.” 

“Of course you did. Do you know what I realized while you were washing up?” 

“No, what?” Sirius spun one of the cups on the floor for Harry, who watched it with fascination before trying to turn it himself, only managing to scoot it across the floor. 

“Yesterday was November 3rd.” 

“Hm? What about it?” Sirius waved his wand and the measuring cups levitated to hover just within reach of Harry, who grabbed at them, giggling as they swooped around his face. 

“It was your birthday.” 

Sirius looked up at that. Remus was gazing at him sadly, a spoon (seriously, how had he managed to find anything in this kitchen?) stirring the contents of the pot by itself behind him. 

“Oh,” Sirius said. “Right.” He hadn’t realized. He’d spent the day just trying to keep Harry from getting into any of the various drawers or cabinets in the rooms he’d wanted to explore, and otherwise napping with him fitfully. 

He was twenty-two now, and all he could think was that he was older than James would ever get to be. 

“Happy Birthday, Sirius,” Remus said. “I would say I’m sorry that I forgot, but given that you apparently forgot, I don’t think you can be that bothered.” 

Sirius had never cared much about his own birthday. His parents had never given him anything he’d really wanted, and once he’d started Hogwarts he’d been a bit embarrassed about having a birthday in November because it meant he spent the rest of the term older than most his classmates. James, being the absolute tosser that he was, had spelled the back of Sirius’ robes to read “Birthday Boy” on November 3rd for two years running before Sirius had noticed and turned James’ hair blonde in revenge. 

Harry was still trying to grab the cups circling his head. He really was going to look just like James, Sirius thought, studying his small face. Except for the eyes. He had Lily’s eyes. 

“Sirius?” Remus asked, when Sirius didn’t speak for a minute. 

“I don’t care about my birthday, Moony.” Sirius got up from the floor and came over to peer into the pot. He forced a smile onto his face and snaked an arm around Remus’ waist. “I just care about this food.” 

Sirius slept for twelve hours. Remus took Harry and settled them into one of the spare rooms with the least amount of disturbing artifacts, while Sirius tried to curl up in his own bed alone. He could hear Harry fussing for awhile, and then when that stopped and all he could hear was in his own heartbeat loud in his ears, he realized his was more awake than ever. Finally he got up, tiptoed down the hall and pushed open the door to the spare room. Remus had a candle lit and was reading a thick, scholarly looking text by its dim light. Harry was sound asleep in the middle of the bed, already drooling. 

“What’s wrong?” Remus whispered. Sirius shook his head, and crawled on the bed, flopping one long arm across Harry and halfway over Remus’ stomach. He felt Remus swallow, but all he said was “Oh. Alright. Don’t get up when he cries. I’ll take care of him tonight.” 

“Thank you,” Sirius mumbled into the pillow, his exhaustion finally hitting him. He was out before he heard Remus respond. 

The first month came and went. Harry stopped crying as much, and went back to his normal cheerful self. He fussed a bit more, perhaps, but mostly he was content to toddle around Grimmauld Place, shrieking with laughter whenever Sirius pretended to chase him down the halls or when he changed into a giant, black dog and caught him by the back of his clothes, tossing him onto his back and letting him ride him down the stairs. Remus always looked vaguely disapproving whenever he caught Sirius doing this, but that could also have been because Harry’s shrieks tended to wake up the portrait of Sirius’ mother. 

Sirius and Remus tried everything they could think of to get the portrait down, but the sticking charm Walburga had used resisted all their efforts. Finally, unable to stand the thought of Harry being exposed to her repeated diatribes (and unable to explain to a one year old the need to be quiet in the hall), Sirius cast a workaround. There was a spell developed by the Muggle-Worthy Excuses Committee meant to change any magic-related word or incantation into the chorus to  _ God Save the Queen _ for any muggles who might overhear. The Ministry had quickly found that a) it was simply more practical to avoid using words like “quidditch” or “Wizengamot” than to keep the spell continually cast, and b) that muggles hearing  _ God Save the Queen _ everytime a witch or wizard wanted to use the word “broomstick” did not make them any less suspicious. 

Sirius, after a few attempts, managed to cast a spell that made every derogatory word from his mother’s portrait sound like a line from  _ Bohemian Rhapsody _ . 

He played music for Harry too, everything from the Weird Sisters to Pink Floyd. Remus half-heartedly tried to tell him that it wasn’t fit for a baby, but Sirius caught him tapping his foot to an AC/DC track one afternoon and decided it was safe to ignore him. 

Remus made Sirius go to the muggle shop a few blocks away to actually pay for things they needed, although after getting a proper night’s sleep it hadn’t been so hard for him to open the front door. They went through Number 12 Grimmauld Place room by room, scouring the house of potential dangers and closing off a few rooms that were simply too full of weird and troubling family relics to bother fixing. Kreacher followed them around while they worked, trying to sneak off with the oldest and foulest of items. Sirius threatened him in all manner of ways until Remus physically pulled him away from the house-elf. Sirius went through his mother’s study and found, besides a number of magical traps set in her desk, a stack of papers that turned out to be his Uncle Alphard’s will, leaving everything he owned to Sirius. Uncle Alphard had died some two or three years back, and Sirius had had no idea that he’d left him his money. With that gold to start with, he bought clothes for Harry, himself, and Remus (who only protested a little), and a new suitcase for Remus ( _ “For Merlin’s sake, Remus, I’ve been looking at that bloody ragged trunk of yours for nearly eleven years and I just can’t do it anymore” _ ). 

Dumbledore and the rest of the Order sent regular owls. Dumbledore did not come back to visit but Minerva did. She arrived at a rather inopportune time, as Sirius was teaching Harry how to bang on a saucepan with a pair of chopsticks to the beat of a rather rowdy Weird Sisters’ song ( _ “I’m teaching him fine motor skills, professor.” “You are a child, raising a child.” _ ) Sirius, after only a week of debating, made Remus a secret-keeper fo Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He brought Hagrid home one day for tea, and the gigantic man sobbed into his cup as they talked about Lily and James. 

Sirius refused to take Harry farther than a few blocks from Grimmauld Place, and Remus did not push him very hard. Still working with the Order to round up the last of the Death Eaters, Remus usually left for a few hours a day, coming home again looking even more tired than usual. He disappeared for the three days surrounding the full moon to stay at St. Mungo’s, and came back pale and shaking. 

“What is it?” Sirius asked him, the moment he saw Remus’ face. He’d been letting Harry color all over the floor of a mostly baby-proofed study with Fabulous Forticia’s Self-Cleaning Markers when Remus had burst in white as a sheet. The full moon was always hard on Remus, but it normally didn’t leave him looking this spooked. 

“The Longbottoms. Frank and Alice. They… They’re…” Remus closed his eyes, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Sirius was surprised and a little alarmed at this. Remus rarely ever cried. “A group of Death Eaters was looking for Voldemort. They thought the Longbottoms knew where he was, I don’t know why, but they tortured them and…” 

Sirius remembered the long, kind letter from Frank and Alice. He hadn’t been close with the Longbottoms, but he’d liked them. Everyone did. They were good people. He’d had a vague idea that he’d send them an owl sometime in the new year, when things were calmer, to let Harry play with another child his age. “They’re dead?” 

Remus shook his head. “No, they’re in St. Mungo’s. In the long-term asylum. I overheard one of the witches talking, she says there’s no hope of recovery with people who’ve been “tortured this far into insanity.” And, Sirius…” Remus hesitated and Sirius’ stomach dropped another few inches. He gathered Harry up into his arms, holding him tight against whatever came next. 

“I don’t know who the others were, but two of the Death Eaters… It was the Lestranges.”

The growl that escaped Sirius’ throat was involuntary. It caused Harry to whimper, and he automatically felt guilty, hugging the child hard and shushing him. “Sorry, Harry, I’m sorry,” he said. He felt like he spent a lot of time saying that. 

“It’s not your fault,” Remus said, his voice as quiet and reasonable as ever. Sirius knew what he meant, but he shook his head.

“I could have killed her, that day on the estate,” he muttered between his teeth. “I could have gone after her…” 

“I, for one, am very glad you did not,” Remus said dryly. “Or did you forget that you were busy saving my neck?” 

The weather turned colder. After the Lestranges, reports stopped coming in about Death Eaters. They’d all either been rounded up or gone into hiding, and the wizarding world seemed to be getting back to a life without You-Know-Who just in time for the holidays. Sirius had always loved Christmas. The Black family had never observed christian holidays, and Sirius had never been religious one way or another, but Christmas to him had meant staying at school or going to the Potter’s over the holiday break. Mostly going to the Potter’s. 

Determined that grief was not going to stop him from giving Harry the same love of the season, Sirius decorated every floor. Remus came home one afternoon to find all of the house-elf heads wearing Santa hats or reindeer headbands. 

“Isn’t this a bit much?” he’d asked without any real argument. 

Sirius threw a large Christmas-themed jumper at him in response. He and Harry had matching ones on already. Remus sighed exaggeratedly and pulled the jumper on over his head. “Alright, then. I give in. I’ll bake gingernewts if you go get the spices from the store.” 

“Ta, love!” Sirius said, transferring Harry to him and summoning his leather jacket from down the hall. It contrasted against his sweater in a way that made Remus throw back his head with laughter. 

Sirius went out and rode his motorbike down the street to the muggle shop where he bought a half-dozen spices and a tin of powdered hot cocoa. The cute muggle girl who worked behind the counter complimented him on his sweater and he winked at her, making her blush. He was feeling pretty in the swing of the holiday spirit when he walked back into the kitchen. 

Remus was busy setting out butter, sugar, and flour on the counter. He had all the lanterns on, turning the usually dim space into a bright, domestic scene. He seemed utterly unconcerned that Kreacher was crouched on the floor, wet eyes gleaming in the unaccustomed light, gazing in rapt attention as Harry showed the house-elf his markers. 

“Kreacher!” Sirius roared, slamming the bag he’d been carrying down on the table. “Step away from Harry.  _ Now! _ ” The house-elf scrambled back from the child before he’d even come out of his crouch. 

Livid, Sirius grabbed Harry up against his protests, running his hands over his arms as if checking for marks. 

“Sirius.” Remus had a way of making his just his name into a reproach. He looked alarm. “He wasn’t doing any harm.” 

“Kreacher did not touch the child,” Kreacher said from a sunken half-bow. “Kreacher only came out from his room because of the-” 

“You do not touch him, ever. Do you understand me, Kreacher? You don’t even speak to Harry. That’s an order.” 

“ _ Sirius _ ,” Remus said again. “That’s not -” 

“Kreacher was only -” Kreacher started, backing slowly away. 

“I DON’T CARE!” Sirius’ voice echoed in the room, strained as it was with years of pent-up rage. Harry, still squirming in his grip began to cry and reached out his arms for Remus. “I don’t care what you were or weren’t doing. Get back in your damn cupboard before I throw you there myself.” 

Kreacher scurried into the far corner of the kitchen, disappearing into the nest behind one of the cupboard doors. Sirius turned his fury on Remus, who was looking just as angrily back at him. 

“What in Godric’s name were you thinking?” Sirius hissed over Harry’s cries. “Letting that  _ thing _ near Harry.”

“That  _ thing _ ?” The vein on Remus’ neck looked like it was about to pop out of his skin. “Sirius, what is wrong with you? Kreacher was being perfectly kind to Harry.” He held out his own arms and Sirius let the squirming child tumble into him. He was shaking too hard to do the bouncing thing that usually got Harry to stop crying. 

“He’s a poisonous, vile piece of -” 

“He wasn’t doing anything! I was right here, anyway. What exactly did you think was going to happen?” Remus looked hard at Sirius, and seemed to notice that he was trembling all over. “What is wrong with you?” he asked again, but without the accusation this time, as if he really wanted to know. 

Sirius couldn’t answer him. He turned and walked out of the room, practically running up the stairs and into his old bedroom where he hadn’t spent a night since Remus moved in. He stayed up there the rest of the night and didn’t answer when Remus knocked lightly on his door. 

He listened to the sounds of Harry fussing as Remus put him to bed, and to the silence of the house for a long time after that. He couldn’t get his heart to stop hammering in his chest or the rage to quell. He simply lay stewing in it until the early morning when he finally fell asleep. 

In his dream, Sirius was laying on the cold stone floor of the second-story den. He’d been laying there for some time because he was on his stomach with his face mashed into the stone and his whole front was aching. He couldn’t move, locked in  _ petrificus totalus _ , and it was quite difficult to breathe with his nose and mouth up against the floor. He could only see out of one eye, the other one pressed against the floor and blackened besides, and in his limited vision he could see Walburga Black’s legs. She wore black stockings and short heels beneath her robes, and he could hear her wand tapping against her palm. 

“What do you think? Our last little disciplinary session doesn’t seem to have left an impression on my  _ son _ .” She said the last word with biting derision. “Last time we tried - what was it, Kreacher?” 

“Mistress used  _ diffindo _ on young master’s arms,” Kreacher said, his stubby legs coming just into view. 

“Ah yes. And did that seem to work, Kreacher?” 

“There was quite a lot of blood, Mistress. Kreacher cleaned for hours, which Kreacher is happy to do, Mistress.” 

“Yes, yes. But it didn’t seem to work on my son’s behavior, did it? Who did you say he received an owl from?” 

“From the Potter boy, Mistress.”

“The  _ Potters _ . A filthy bunch of bloodtraitors, the lot of the them. Oh well, it can’t be helped in that case. We’ll just have to try something else this time.  _ Locomotor! _ ” Walberga Black yelled, waving her wand and beginning to levitate Sirius’ petrified body into the air before bouncing him back against the floor. 

Every inch of him ached as his slammed again and again into the floor, bruises forming instantaneously on his arms and chest, his nose breaking on the third impact. Walberga would fix him up afterwards, healing bones and the worst bruises, leaving just enough to remind him of what she was capable. But that healing was far off as his body met stone. In the memory, and it was a memory, Sirius hadn’t been able to move or open his mouth to scream with the pain. 

He didn’t know he was screaming in his sleep until Remus’ hands were on him, pulling him back into the present.


	7. 1981

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content Warning*: This chapter contains some continued discussion of past abuse

## December 5th, 1981 - North London

“Sirius, wake up. Wake up, lad, you’re alright.” Remus was shaking him by the shoulder, his voice low and soothing the way he might approach a frightened unicorn foal. “C’mon Padfoot, you big lug, wake up.”

Sirius’ throat felt dry and hoarse. He turned away from Remus, facing the wall and wrapped his arms around himself. This hadn’t happened in awhile. He’d mostly moved on from everything he’d gone through in this house, but being back here, with both its dead and living reminders…

Sirius let himself change into the dog version of himself. He’d found it was easier that way, to process. He didn’t feel emotions in the same way when he took dog shape, didn’t even think in fully the same patterns. He’d never considered that when he and James had set out to become Animagus, and none of the spell books they had (illicitly) obtained had ever mentioned the effect that regular transformation into animal form could have the mind.

Sirius let out a whine between his canine jaws, feeling only a dog’s fear at being beaten, the complex shame and guilt around those memories fading into the background.

“Oh dear,” Remus said. He sat on the bed, stroking Sirius back, his fingers running through Sirius’ long black fur. “That bad?”

Sirius shivered. He couldn’t feel embarrassment too acutely in dog form. Remus knew a little about what Sirius’ childhood had been like. Sirius had rather obvious cigarette burns that had permanently scarred his arms, and while his friends might have been too polite to ask about it as children, they’d certainly had a good idea what they were from and why their friend sometimes woke up crying out in pain.

Sirius had gotten up the courage to ask Dumbledore about those scars, among others, during his last year at Hogwarts. He’d seen the Headmaster less frequently those last two years, and on this instance Dumbledore had simply stopped by his hospital bed after he’d taken a rather nasty fall on the quidditch pitch. Sirius’ arm had healed perfectly, not even leaving a scar where the shattered handle of his broom had impaled him.

“Professor,” Sirius had said. “Why do some injuries leave scars when others can be magicked away?”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes had traced over his face, a deep sadness in them that had surprised him at the time. “There are some things that leave a mark on a person’s soul, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore had said evenly. “Wounds that are emotional as well as physical. We can heal a person’s body, but if the scar remains inside as well as out…”

Sirius had thought immediately of Remus, with his body covered in scratch and bite marks. His skin was so pale that the scars were not prominent in most light, but none of those wounds had ever healed properly.

Remus’ fingers scratched behind his ears now. He’d always been freer with his affection when the Marauders were in animal form. The only one of them who could not control his change, he’d never seemed to mind spending time with his friends as they ran about the Forbidden Forest on all fours, Wormtail usually clinging to Prongs’ antlers or else safe on Remus’ shoulder as James and Sirius had tussled in the foliage. They’d asked Remus, of course, if he’d thought about transfiguring himself into a wolf form that he had control of, but Remus had looked positively aghast at the idea and none of them brought it up again.

James and Sirius had come to their conclusions about their pale, secretive friend independently, but more or less at the same pace. In their third year, James and Sirius had been up on North Tower, looking at the full moon and the cotillion of stars around it, when James had said, apropos of nothing, “So, are you thinking what I’m thinking about Remy?”

Sirius had propped himself up on one elbow from where he’d been laying and looked over at his friend, eyebrows raised. “Maybe,” he said carefully. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

James had rolled in eyes suggestively in the direction of the night sky and Sirius nodded.

“Poor bloke,” James said. “And there’s no cure at all. Wonder why he hasn’t told any of us. It’s not like we’re that thick, he must know we’ve noticed the timing by now.”

“Well…”

“Peter’s not thick, he’s just, well, Peter.”

“Maybe Remy thinks we’d be afraid of him, the idiot,” Sirius said, letting himself fall back and looking once more up at the brilliant round moon above them. “Not exactly likely to bite us, is he, wherever they ship him off to every month.”

“I wonder…” James had that absolutely devilish glint in his eyes that meant he and Sirius were about to get into very real trouble. “Can’t be pleasant for him, can it? Being alone and chasing his own tail every month.”

“Alright, but we’re not exactly up to keeping a werewolf under control, are we?”

“I bet they don’t even give him space to run around,” James continued as if Sirius hadn’t spoken. “If they’re not literally chaining him up in the dungeons somewhere.”

“He’s not chained up in the dungeons, nitwit, someone would hear the howling.”

“We could just, you know, take him out for a walk.”

Sirius laughed. “And how do you take a werewolf out for a walk? Have you got a magical leash?”

“I was thinking of something else, actually.” James sat up, ruffling his own hair, as was his habit. “Do you think we’re up to a bit of advanced transfiguration?”

And so the idea of becoming Animagus had come into being. They hadn’t told Remus what they were about because, as much as they could have used his scholarly knowledge, they were pretty sure their more reserved friend would have felt honor bound to try and stop them. It took them two years to work out the spell properly, with an astonishingly low amount of accidents in between. James did walk around for two months in their fourth year with a limp while they tried to figure out how to turn his right foot back from a hoof, but it hadn’t affected his flying so James hadn’t been that bothered.

It had been easy for them to decide on Sirius’ form when James pointed out that it was in his name, but they’d spent a long time debating the various merits of different animals for James. James had initially been enchanted by the idea of becoming a Canadian moose, but given that neither of them had actually seen a moose or even a eurasian elk before, they’d agreed it was too dangerous to shift into the unknown. James had settled on a stag instead. They had initially intended for Peter to join them as a larger animal, but larger shapes required a great deal more magic and anyway, as James pointed out, they could use a smaller animal to sneak out and press the knot on the whomping willow, not to mention other unrelated sneaking needs.

Remus fingers stroked down Sirius’ back in slow, reassuring movements. “It’s alright, lad,” he said. “It’s alright.”

When Sirius had got ahold of himself, he changed back into his usual form. Remus immediately pulled his hand away from where it had been stroking the small of his back, and his face was a little red when Sirius rolled back over to look up at him. It was odd, really, that after all these years, Remus could still blush like that just from basic physical affection. Of the four of them, Remus had been the most reserved in every way. He never really scolded Sirius and James about their antics, but he still managed to make them feel ashamed of themselves back in the school years when they really had taken things too far on a regular basis. After the incident with the giant squid* in their third year, Remus had simply lowered his head onto the book he’d been reading and banged it gently against his own face. “Do you have a death wish?” he’d asked.

“Only a bit,” Sirius had said.

“More of a near-death-experience wish, really,” James had amended.

“More of a standing-next-to-death-trying-to-get-his-attention-and-then-regretting-it-later wish,” Sirius had added.

“Who said anything about regretting?” James had wanted to know.

Remus had groaned into his book while Peter laughed.

They’d been idiots, the lot of them, but Remus less than the others. Back in Sirius’ old bedroom, he scooted to the edge of the bed again when Sirius came back to himself, allowing space between them. Sirius had to exercise a great deal of willpower not to fill that space and wrap himself around Remus’ waist like a koala around a branch.

“Are you still mad at me about Kreacher?” Sirius asked, hoping he didn’t sound as much like a petulant child as he felt. Remus didn’t have the same sort of temper that Sirius did, but he could hold onto a grudge for much longer.

Remus frowned at him. “Is that all you want to talk about right now?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, a bit.” Remus tugged at a lock of his brown hair, streaked with grey. The grey had started around third or fourth year, Sirius couldn’t quite remember which. He did remember trying to convince Remus that it was a handsome look for him, and Remus looking about as convinced as when James denied having a crush on Lily Evans. “He’s not a _thing_ , Sirius. He’s a being all his own, and you treat him like dirt. What did he ever do to you?”

Sirius’ eye twitched. “Plenty,” he growled, feeling more like himself.

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”

“He _watched_ ,” Sirius said, before he could stop himself. “He was there with her, helping her, spying for her.” It wasn’t as if Kreacher had ever actually touched Sirius himself, but he’d been witness to so much of his trauma.

“Ah Sirius,” Remus said. He relented and put his hand on top of one of Sirius’ where he’d clenched them in fists at his side. “He can’t help doing what he’s told. He literally can’t.”

“He worshipped my mother,” Sirius said shortly. “He didn’t have to love her.”

Remus was quiet for a moment. He rubbed his thumb in small circles over the back of Sirius’ clenched hand. “Can you see how it might be easier to love a captor than to live in torment for all of your life?” he asked at last. “I can, if I’d been born into servitude. If your mother was kind to him, well, Kreacher had very little outside of her kindness. His world is small.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not vile,” Sirius muttered.

“He deserves to be treated like a person, all the same.” Remus looked down at his knees, covered in soft grey pajama bottoms. “Do you know what I hear the attendants on the short-term ward call me every time I’ve checked in for the full moon? _It_ . “ _It’s_ here to be monitored,” “ _It’s_ not strapped down tight enough, remember last time?” People think of me like you think of Kreacher. We’re not human, so we don’t deserve basic respect.”

Sirius felt his blood boiling and he would have quite liked to go to St. Mungo’s to see how those attendants handled a fully unrestrained Grim. He opened his fist under Remus and their fingers fit together. It just wasn’t that weird to Sirius to hold his friend’s hand. Who was going to care, honestly? When they were in animal form, they’d all curled up together in the Shrieking Shack at the end of a long night of adventure. He didn’t see how this was terribly different. James certainly hadn’t. When Lily had found out that her boyfriend just sort of, well, snuggled his best friend sometimes (in a brotherly way), she had laughed and laughed. She told Sirius if he expected to sleep in their bed, he’d better keep his hands on James’ side (and sometimes the three of them had slept in just that arrangement).

For his part, Sirius had never had to explain his platonic cuddling habits to anyone, never having found himself in a committed relationship that warranted such conversations. Oh, there had been the Ravenclaw girl he’d snuck away with on a few occasions, but neither of them had been serious about the other. And then there had been the Hufflepuff boy he’d spent one glorious afternoon snogging in the empty greenhouse. He’d thought it had been a lark, but Edgar Bones had started following him around like a lovesick puppy after that, and he’d had to be truly unkind to get him to stop. He’d regretted that a bit when Edgar had turned up in the Order, but they both pretended not to know each other and got on well enough.

Sirius had known he’d liked boys for as long as he’d known he liked girls. He’d also learned quite quickly, thanks to his mother, that this wasn’t something one admitted in polite, pureblood society.

“Give me their names and I’ll bite them for you,” Sirius said, squeezing Remus’ hand. Remus smiled a little, squeezing back.

“The point is that Kreacher deserves some level of kindness from you. Like it or not, he’s your responsibility now. Dumbledore says it’s too dangerous to dismiss him, which means he’s stuck here and you’re going to have to learn to get on with him. As his master, you have to think about his feelings. Otherwise… well, otherwise you’re abusing his bond.”

Sirius winced. “Alright, alright, I’ll… try.”

[*A vague reference to this post: https://theysaidtheseathogwartsprobably.tumblr.com/post/180136463428/remus-lupin-i-heard-some-idiot-tried-to-fight-the]


	8. 1981

## December 5th - December 9th, 1981

Sirius couldn’t quite bring himself to apologize to Kreacher, but he did visit his cupboard the next day and rescind his order not to talk to Harry. Kreacher bowed to him from his nest of rags, muttering under his breath all the while. The sight of his pitiful bed with its faint smell of mildew did not fill Sirius with any satisfaction, which he saw as a step in the direction of empathy. 

A few days after that, Remus announced one morning that he was taking Harry to the park a few blocks away to “get some air”. 

Sirius never would have thought he’d be the overprotective sort or that he’d smother Harry with precautions. He’d assumed, actually, as they all had, that he’d be the primary reason for Harry getting into his first scrapes. But that was before. 

“You’ve got your wand on you, haven’t you?” He asked for the third time as he stowed his own in the pocket of his leather jacket. 

“Yes, dear,” Remus said with considerable patience. “C’mon, neither of you can stay cooped up in this house forever.” 

“We’re making it livable,” Sirius argued. It was true that additional lanterns in the halls made a difference, and they were slowly getting rid of the most disturbing items (bottles of blood, haunted music boxes, etc). Remus had brought home a plant two weeks back and it wasn’t even dead yet, which said something. 

“Children need the outside air. There’s a great muggle children’s book all about the healing powers of the outdoors. I’ll buy you a copy and you can read it to Harry.” 

Remus had already put socks, shoes, a hat, and a tiny coat on Harry. He stood at the door, holding the child’s hand, both of them looking at Sirius expectantly. He sighed and followed them out into the cold. 

Sirius had snuck away from Grimmauld Place to play at this park quite often in his childhood. He’d made a few muggle friends there, had even gotten to know some of their language and gone back to one of their houses for tea and beans on toast. And then his mother had caught him holding hands with a muggle boy there when he was about eight or nine, and that had really been the start of all his trouble. 

It wasn’t a large park. Just a few blocks from Grimmauld Place, there was a patch of grass about half the length of a proper football pitch, a few hardy evergreen trees, and a playground with most of the usual accoutrements. Harry, having been stuck inside for most of a month, had a great time just running around the grassy area before he even discovered the playground. 

He was really too young to play on it properly, but Remus helped him clamber up the wooden structure and took him down the little plastic slide on his lap. Harry shrieked in absolute glee and raced back around to climb up again. Sirius watched them from the edge of the woodchips, eyes darting around while they played. He had to admit that Remus had been right. It made a difference, being outside. All he really wanted to do was turn into dog shape and go for a run. 

He couldn’t shift, however, not with the four muggle mothers also hovering at the edge of the playground. They all seemed to know each other as they had clustered together, gossiping and keeping half an eye on their children. The youngest child Sirius could see, besides Harry, looked to be about three, although Sirius had never really been able to tell these things. 

Sirius was good with Harry, he hoped, but as he watched Remus coax Harry away from the slide so that a young girl in braided pigtails could have a turn, he thought that Remus seemed like a natural with all children. He and Remus hadn’t exactly talked about whether their arrangement was a permanent one. They’d been so busy dealing with the immediacy of their problems, with Harry and with the remaining Death Eaters, and Sirius had the feeling they were both avoiding it. Because talking about it meant that this was permanent. James and Lily weren’t coming back. 

“How old is your son?” 

Sirius nearly pulled his wand on the muggle woman walking up to him. He managed to clench his fist inside his jacket pocket at the last second, hoping she hadn’t noticed the jerk of his arm. 

“Uhh,” he said, glancing at Harry, who Remus had managed to put into one of the baby swings. Harry’s hat was askew, nearly covering one eye, and he was laughing like a little maniac. Of course he would love the stupid muggle swings. He’d had a toy broomstick at his parents’ house (it only hovered about a foot off the ground), and even at one year old he’d been zooming around on it laughing with delight. Sirius really ought to have bought him a replacement by now. “He’s sixteen months.” 

He couldn’t help smiling. His first thought was of how James would laugh to hear Harry being mistaken as Sirius’ son. He and James had been taken as blood brothers on more than one occasion. It was part of why they had bonded so quickly, Sirius had always suspected. Being two of the handful of brown kids at Hogwarts, it had seemed immediately clear that they’d have to have each other’s backs. Oh, there had been Kingsley Shacklebolt of course, two years above them, and the Patil girl the year below, but the rest of Gryffindor house had largely been as pasty as a poltergeist. 

Sirius and James had met on the train and been instantly enamored with each other in an eleven-year-old boy sort of way, talking over each other in boisterous spirits and telling jokes. By the time they got up to their dormitory that evening, they’d been acting as if they’d known each other for years. 

James had been trying to throw Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans into Sirius’ mouth from across the room when Peter and Remus had come up the stairs and introduced themselves. It was just the four of them in Gryffindor that year and they all settled onto the beds where their trunks had been placed, unpacking to various degrees. Remus had settled himself on his bed with his legs drawn up to his chest and an open textbook at once, seemingly absorbed in  _ The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One _ . Peter pulled out a poster of the Appleby Arrows quidditch team and sat looking at the players zoom around it for awhile. 

“So, are you two brothers?” Peter had asked at last, when James and Sirius’ raucous laughter over a chocolate frog that had been apparently hiding in James’ hair since the train got a little too loud. 

“That’s racist,” James had said without blinking, his face going completely deadpan. 

Sirius had to bite his own tongue to keep from laughing as Peter’s eyes went as round as saucers and his skin turned a blotchy pink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus wince without ever looking up from his book. 

Peter had only just started spluttering an apology when James let him off the hook, grinning his infectious grin and getting up to offer Peter the bag of Bertie Botts Beans. “I’m only taking the mickey, mate. Have a bean.” 

Peter, still a stunningly uneven shade of pink, took a handful of the candy. 

“We’re not related. We just met on the the train,” James continued, turning to offer the bag to Remus. He practically had to shove his hand under Remus’ nose, he was trying so hard to pretend he was reading. 

“Oh, thanks,” Remus said, taking some. Even then, his robes had been a bit shabby, clearly hand-me-downs. The trunk had been in better shape at that point, but it had obviously been dragged through a number of train stations before Kings Cross. “My mum’s a muggle so we don’t usually have wizarding sweets at home.” 

James looked practically appalled. “Even the ones that don’t move, like Bertie Botts or Pepper Imps?” 

Remus laughed. “Muggle sweets don’t usually make smoke come out of your ears, mate.” 

James, looking thoughtful at this, opened his trunk and pulled out another bag stuffed full of assorted sweets. “You remember that muggleborn girl on the train?” he asked Sirius, the devilish glint that Sirius would come to know so well sparkling in his brown eyes. “Do you think she might like to try some wizarding candy?” 

Remus and Peter followed James and Sirius into the common room, but Remus at least refused to go up into the girls’ dormitory. Peter, after glancing nervously between James, Sirius and Remus, opted to hover undecidedly in the middle of the room. The stairs, as was their nature, turned into a stone slide with a loud cry when James was on the fifth step and Sirius on the third, sending them sprawling all over each as they slid down it. Remus stood in the boy’s stairwell, clutching the stitch in his sides as he went fairly breathless with laughter. 

And so it was that James and Sirius had earned a warning from a Gryffindor Prefect on their first night at Hogwarts. 

Sirius thought James would have been tickled to know that the story remained the same. 

“Well he’s just absolutely adorable,” the muggle woman in the park said. She was five to ten years older than Sirius, although he was not much better at guessing adults’ ages than he was at guessing children’s. “That’s my girl, over there. She’s five.” She pointed at the girl with braids, now chasing a boy her age around the perimeter of the playground. 

“Uh, right, very cute,” Sirius said lamely. 

“Thank you.” The woman smiled as if he’d just complimented  _ her _ . “And who’s this charming young man with you?” 

Remus, having noticed that Sirius had been accosted, had pulled Harry out of the swing and was making his way over with Harry on top of his shoulders, both of his tiny fists gripping clumps of his hair. 

“Right, I’m Sirius and this is Remus. And this is Harry,” Sirius added as Remus let the boy tumble off his shoulders into Sirius’ arms. Harry squirmed up until he could reach Sirius’ face and planted a very slobbery and enthusiastic kiss on his cheek, clearly having an excellent day out. 

“I’m Lyonette Bridgeport,” the woman said. Remus shook her hand, glancing at Sirius with a bemused sort of look on his face. 

“Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure,” Remus said for the both of them. 

“I was just telling Sirius here that that’s my little girl out there.” She pointed again, and without waiting for Remus to come up with the compliment this sort of statement seemed to necessitate, she went barrelling on. “And I was just about to ask if the two of you had thought about joining the Neighbour’s Association yet. I’m the chairwoman, you see, and all of us girls are on it.” She waved behind her at that three other mothers still keeping an eye on their kids - and, Sirius noted, on himself and Remus. “But it takes… all sorts.” She paused meaningfully. “Linda’s brother Eddie was a big help to us before he moved to San Francisco to be with his partner, and none of our husbands’ seem to have the time these days to make up the male quota.” She laughed gaily. “Anyway, here’s our card. It’s lovely to see new blood in old neighbourhoods like this, I must tell you. I hope you’ll feel right at home here.” She handed Remus a bright yellow card with a teal umbrella drawn on the back. He took it dumbly. “Just know you’ll be welcome at the meetings! Especially if you bring this little crumpet.” She smiled and crinkled her nose at Harry, who crinkled his nose right back at her. “Lovely to meet you both, I’m sure I’ll see you in the neighbourhood.” Without waiting for either of them to respond, she blew a kiss and sauntered back over to her friends. 

Sirius stood staring after her for a moment, nonplussed, before Remus prodded his arm. “Let’s go,” he said. 

Sirius hoisted Harry into a more comfortable position on his hip. “I feel like I just danced a round with a whirling dervish,” he said, following Remus out of the park. “What just happened?” 

“Well, when I first saw you talking I assumed she was flirting with you, which is why I came over to rescue you,” Remus said. Running around in the cold winter air had turned his cheeks a brilliant pink. Or perhaps it wasn’t that at all. “But it turns out she just thinks we are a token gay couple come to bring a spark of diversity into Olde London Town.” 

“Oh, is that what she was on about?” Sirius found himself grinning. “Oh, Moony, please will you go to one of these meetings with me?” He snatched the yellow card from Remus with his free hand. “Can you imagine? Muggle neighbourhood politics! With a gay Pakistani wizard, his werewolf boyfriend, and their Indian godson.” Sirius couldn’t help his peals of laughter ringing across the street. He laughed so hard it hurt. It felt good to laugh like that again. 

“No. I may actually take a leaf from your book and never leave the house again,” Remus said. His face was still flushed, but he was grinning too.


	9. 1981

## December 21st, 1981 - North London

Number 12 Grimmauld Place had always been drafty, and that winter they had to keep fire going in any room they wanted to spend more than a few minutes in without shivering. Sirius sometimes stayed changed into dog form for hours, curled up with Harry in front of the fire, warm in his shaggy fur coat. Harry, with perfect one and a half year old indifference, babbled to Sirius as a dog just as he did to Sirius as a human. He’d added “Krish” to his vocabulary, which seemed to mean Kreacher, who always appeared to stoke the fire in whatever room Harry was in.

On the night of the winter solstice, Sirius lay curled up with Harry on what he’d come to think of as Remus’ bed. Harry had been fast asleep for some time and Sirius still preferred to stay with him, even though it meant laying there awake with his own thoughts for hours. Sometime he read, or returned a few owls to various Order members, but mostly he just watched Harry sleep and tried to quell his internal panic about parenthood.

Remus had come to bed too, but he was sitting up reading a very thick book called _In Light of Dark Creatures: How Wizards Came to Live With the Monsters Under Their Beds_. Remus had always read with an intensity that secretly impressed Sirius. He and James had been talented and powerful, there was no point in being humble about it. You-Know-Who had tried to recruit them both, along with Lily, when they were still at school. _Born to parents who have thrice defied him_ , the prophecy had said. Refusing him had been their first defiance.

But James and Sirius had also very nearly flunked Muggle Studies in their fourth year. Oh, not that it was difficult. If anything, the issue had been that it was rather boring. James and Sirius were talented at magic, they weren’t particularly talented students.

Remus, on the other hand, had chosen Arithmancy in third year, which was objectively the hardest class taught at Hogwarts. He’d always had one of the top marks of everyone in their year in every subject. And that was on top of missing at least one day of classes a month, Prefect duties, and the adventures that Sirius and James put him through. He was powerful too, he had just never been as showy about it as the others.

As he turned the pages of his heavy volume, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, Sirius realized that his friend had allowed his ridiculous mustache to start coming back in. Or perhaps it wasn’t so ridiculous now. Sirius remembered it on a fourteen and fifteen year old Remus, wispy and absurd on his thin, boyish face. Twenty-one year old Remus’ face was angular rather than thin, with stubble on his cheeks and shadows under his eyes accentuated by the candlelight. He had not quite reached _haggard_ , but Sirius suspected another five years of full moons would push him to it. The grey in his brown hair had already reached liberal proportions. Sirius rather liked the grey, if truth be told, but he had never convinced Remus of it.

“Moony,” he said at last and Remus reluctantly looked up from his book.

“Hm?”

“Are you staying?”

“What do you mean?” Remus kept the book open in his lap, clearly hoping to return to it. Dark grey blankets were draped over his legs and the pajama top he wore was unbuttoned just enough that Sirius could see his clavicle and several of the long, thin scars raked across it.

“I’m glad you’re here. I’d like you to stay. But if you finish up things with the Order here, and you want to get on with your life, y’know, Harry and I will manage. I don’t want you to feel… stuck.”

Remus blinked down at him. “Oh for heaven’s sake. Sirius…” He rubbed his face with his hands. “What exactly do you think my life is? All it’s been since we left Hogwarts is the Order, and fighting Voldemort, and you, James, Lily, and Harry. And Peter. The Order’s disbanding, no one has seen so much as Peter’s tail, and our best friends are dead. You’re holding it together remarkably well, I must say, but I think if I didn’t have you and Harry to look out for… What life am I supposed to have out there while the world moves on from the brink of destruction? We came too close to the brink, you and I. James and Lily might not have named me his godfather, but I’ll be damned if I let you spoil Harry or take him on that useless bike of yours. You’re all he’s got for a father, but I’m…” Remus stopped, looking down at Sirius and the sleeping baby as if he was suddenly unsure of himself. “I’m as good as.”

“Alright,” Sirius stretched out the arm draped over Harry until his hand landed on Remus mid-thigh. He patted his leg and left his hand there. “I was only checking, love.”

They lapsed into silence. Remus sat looking down at his open book, eyes unmoving. Sirius, meanwhile, closed his eyes and listened hard to the sound of Harry breathing.

“Moony?” he said again at last.

“Hm?”

“What are we going to tell Harry, when he’s old enough to start asking questions?”

Remus was quiet for so long that Sirius opened one eye to check on him. He was still looking down at the book, but his eyes had gone out of focus.

“The truth, I suppose,” he said at last.

Sirius closed his eyes again. “He’ll hate me,” he said, his tone neutral.

“He won’t hate you.”

“I got them killed, Remus. It was my fault.” He was surprised how calm these words were coming out, finally coming out of him to live on the outside.

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t betray them, Peter did. You didn’t kill them, Voldemort did. James and Lily agreed to make Peter secretkeeper. Even if it was your idea, they made that choice themselves. We all trusted him, Sirius.”

“I should have known something was wrong.”

“He never gave us any reason to doubt him.”

“Can’t you hate me a little bit, Moony? I think it might make me feel better.”

Remus laughed quietly. Sirius was surprised to feel fingers brush lightly through his hair. “Alright then. I hate your hair. It’s stupid and perfect and responsible for at least 30% of the last year.”

Sirius smiled, not opening his eyes. Remus might let him share a bed, like a child frightened of the dark, but he didn’t cuddle. Harry was always between them, kept safely from rolling off either side of the bed, a barrier between their bodies. He touched Sirius in smaller ways and his fingers running through his hair made him feel like his dog self.

When Remus took his hand away and went back to his book, Sirius buried his face in his sleeping godson’s hair and tried to sleep. His thoughts kept turning back to Peter. _He never gave us any reason to doubt him._ Peter Pettigrew, the round-faced nervous boy who could never quite keep up with the rest of them, but who had always been willing to die trying. He’d been up to do anything, as long as James or Sirius did it first (and didn’t mind showing him how a second or third time). He’d been so delighted to be included, so fiercely insistent on not being left behind.

Of course, there had been the occasional moment when Sirius had considered strangling Peter. James had hidden reserves of patience that Sirius had never been able to tap into, and it was largely due to this that The Marauders had survived for a full seven years. Peter, not being a particularly bright lad, had a habit of sticking his foot down his own throat.

One afternoon in the beginning of their fifth year, all four boys had been laying out on the grounds, soaking in the last sunny days before autumn truly began. Sirius had his head in James’ lap and his feet in Remus’. Peter was furiously trying to finish an essay for Charms, and Remus was dutifully helping him, but otherwise they had finished their homework and had nothing more pressing to do than plan for the next full moon.

James was talking quidditch strategy - loudly, just in case anyone was nearby to hear - when Sirius bolted up out of his lap, yanking his feet from Remus at the same time and nearly kicking his friend in the face.

“What -” James started to ask as Sirius swept his hair over one shoulder in a graceful arc, then saw where Sirius was staring with bright eagerness in his eyes. “Oh man. Here we go.”

A group of seventh years were coming down from the castle, chatting and laughing amongst themselves, clearly out to enjoy the last few days of proper sun like the rest of the students outside. Among them was a tall, muscular black boy with a shaved head and a lionhead earring in one ear.

“Alright there, Shacklebolt?” Sirius called as the group neared them. The black boy glanced in their direction and heaved a visible sigh.

“What do you want, Black?”

“Can’t a subject greet his Head Boy in public?” Sirius called back. “We are, afterall, all lost without your captaincy. Spare a word for your devoted, lowly, fifth years, would you?”

“If you don’t need anything, I am going to walk away before the four of you give me any reasons to dock points from Gryffindor,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said in his deep, even voice. He had not even slowed down as the group passed the four boys, the other seventh years largely ignoring them.

“I plan to be very, very good this year!” Sirius yelled after them. Kingsley didn’t turn around, and Sirius flopped back on the grass with a sigh.

“He’s never going to shag you, y’know,” James said. “I’d give that one up.”

“A boy can dream,” Sirius said.

“I didn’t think Kingsley would be your type. He could probably lift you with one hand.”

“I wish he would,” Sirius said dreamily. James made a gagging sound. “What? He’s a nice manly man with very nice manly man muscles and I for one would not mind getting closer to them.” Sirius caught the look on Remus’ face and felt immediately guilty, but was unsure how to undo what he’d said, so he just kept going. “More like Kingsley Shag-a-bloke, am I right?”

“Sometimes I hate you, and this is why,” James said.

“You’d be lost without me, dear, don’t pretend otherwise.”

“But…” Peter interrupted slowly, his eyebrows drawn together over beady dark eyes in a look of deep perplection. “It’s not that I mind or anything, but… I mean… Sirius, isn’t it not allowed? I mean, aren’t you Muslim?”

Sirius could actually feel his own eyes get wide. Remus dropped his face into his hands and James made a choking noise as Sirius stared at Peter. “Uhh,” Sirius said, glancing at James who was clearly going to be no help in this situation as he was obviously biting the inside of his own cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. “No.”

“But… doesn’t your cousin Andromeda wear the hijab?”

Frankly, the fact that Peter even knew the word hijab was a revelation. “Yeah,” Sirius said, torn between a desire to laugh at and throttle Peter. “But it’s not, like, inherited. You’ll notice her sisters don’t. It’s a religion, Wormtail, not a bloody eye color. Merlin, we’ve shared a room for _five years_. How can you possibly not know this?”

Peter, being Peter, did not even seem to notice how incredibly deep he had dug his own hole. “But… I thought, with your family being from Pakistan…”

“Okay, first of all, my father’s family has been in England longer than yours. Secondly, not everyone who is Pakistani is Muslim. Thirdly, not everyone who is Muslim would care who I want to shag. Fourthly, James, please, I can’t.”

James pulled himself together long enough to jump up and say “Come on, Pet, let’s go for a walk around the lake.”

Peter got up and followed him, his voice trailing off as they walked away. “But I thought it wasn’t allowed, that’s all…”

Sirius sat there too stunned and annoyed to move for a minute, before he realized that the odd background noise he’d been hearing was coming from Remus, whose shoulders were shaking. With his face still buried in his hands, Sirius thought for a fleeting instant that Remus was _crying_. It took only a moment for him to realize that the strangled sound was laughter.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Sirius said loftily.

Remus lifted his face out of his hands, and there were actual tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. “Holy Godric Gryffindor, if you could have seen your face,” he chortled, gasping for breath. “I’m going to buy a pensieve, just so that I can put this memory in one day and watch it over and over again.” He dissolved into laughter, leaning over and clutching his stomach.

Sirius couldn’t help smiling at his friend’s helpless amusement. “How, Moony? How could he possibly be this ignorant? I love the boy, but core blimey, if I don’t want to shake him some days.”

“He’s gotten better,” Remus said fairly, wiping his eyes, still chuckling.

“Yeah, alright, but come on.”

  
_I should have known_ , Sirius thought from his protective curled position around Harry. _I should have known. I should have strangled him when I had the chance._


	10. 1981

## December 24th - December 25th, 1981 - North London

“He doesn’t even know it’s Christmas,” Remus said wearily from the armchair in one of the first floor parlor rooms. Hopeless Enchantments, an entirely too-sappy wizarding band who played Christmas music all year round, was on the radio which was cranked as loud as it would go. A fire burned merrily in the fireplace while snow fell from the ceiling, never reaching the ground. A Christmas fir decorated in red and gold stood almost to the ceiling, its top dusted with the magical snow while the pile of presents beneath grew steadily larger.

“They’re not all from me,” Sirius said, levitating a few packages from where he sat at Remus’ feet over to the pile under the tree. He was still trying to wrap up the toy broom in a way that didn’t make it immediately obvious what the package would be. “People have been sending me things for Harry all month. Did you know Mad-Eye tried to give him a bloody great knife? “Carved out of a dragon fang” he says, like I’m going to let a one and a half year-old have a sword for Christmas.”

“I wish you’d call him Alastor,” Remus said mildly. “And you can hardly blame him for thinking you might.”

“I find it a little sexist that everyone thinks I’m going to let Harry strangle himself in a damn curtain or something,” Sirius grumbled. He was wrapping extra tissue paper around the broom handle to make it into one oblong shape. “It’s not like I don’t know to keep wands and knives away from the kid. At least until he’s older.”

“It’s an assumption based more on your personal character and colorful past.” Remus took a sip of his tea and turned the page of the book he was reading. “Besides which, sexism is a systematic oppression based on institutional discrimination and it is therefore impossible to be sexist toward men in our society.”

“Thank you, Professor Lupin, that makes me feel much better.” 

“By the way, I’ve invited Augusta Longbottom and her grandson to join us for Christmas tea tomorrow.”

Sirius swivelled around to look up at Remus, who did not take his eyes off his book. “Why on earth would you invite that terrifying witch into our home?” he said, only half-joking.

“She’s in town anyway, visiting St. Mungo’s. She sent a letter, which you didn’t open, so I wrote back and told her we were having a small gathering tomorrow and that she and Neville would be welcome to join. She has graciously accepted our invitation.” Remus turned the next page of the book. “Neville’s only a day older than Harry. It will be good for him to interact with another baby.”

“I know that,” Sirius muttered turning back to the broom and wrapping it in green and red paper a little aggressively. “I was planning to send her an owl in the new year.”

“Well, now you’ll get a proper introduction. Don’t sulk. It’s not like half the Order won’t be here already.”

This was true, although only because Remus had agreed to it before Sirius could argue. He’d been wary of letting that many people know their address, but found that he was looking forward to filling the house with familiar faces. His caution around keeping Harry safe remained, but his old restlessness was starting to come back. He’d even left Harry with Remus for a few hours the other night to go on a long flight over London on his bike. The cold winter air had whipped his face until his skin felt raw, but breathing in the smell of snow and the city had made him feel alive again.

“Augusta Longbottom makes me feel like a misbehaving child,” Sirius said, now using spell-o-tape to keep the still-broom-shaped wrapping together.

“You are a misbehaving child,” Remus answered without missing a beat.

The next day dawned with a crisp blanket of snow outside Grimmauld Place. Untouched in the early morning light, it sparkled with a magic even muggles could feel. Sirius stood at the window looking at the picturesque Christmas scene before he plopped a giggling Harry on top of Remus’ chest and straddled his friend’s waist, bouncing the bed beneath the three of them.

“Happy Christmas!” Sirius shouted as Remus opened sleep-blurred eyes and groaned. Harry patted Remus’ cheeks with both hands.

“Moony,” Harry said insistently. “Moooooony.”

Sirius roared with laughter. They’d never quite figured out how Harry had gotten to “Moon-Moon” instead of “Moony”, except that perhaps the latter had sounded too much like “mummy” and been confusing for him. James had taught Harry to call Sirius “Foot” on purpose, because James had been a tosser.

“I hate you,” Remus said, but he kissed Harry’s fingers. “Not you though, love.”

“You can’t hate me on Christmas,” Sirius said, bouncing the bed again with his knees, holding Harry with one hand so he didn’t fall off Remus’ chest. The springs creaked ominously. “Those are the rules.”

“They aren’t the rules when you wake me up this early for no reason.”

“It’s Christmas! That’s more than enough reason, isn’t it, Harry?”

Harry nodded emphatically, grinning a wide little toddler grin. God, but he looked just like a miniature James.

“You are far too awake.” Remus tried to sit up and found that he couldn’t with Harry on his chest and Sirius straddling his lower half. “How did you possibly get this awake?”

“CHRISTMAS!” Sirius shouted, bouncing with his knees and tossing Harry up into the air, catching him before he could knock the wind out of Remus’ ribs.

Remus groaned again. “You are a lot of work,” he said to Sirius, who only grinned. He slid off the bed, taking Harry with him.

“Come on, Moony. We can’t do presents without you. We’ve got a baby to spoil. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Lots and lots of work,” Remus muttered. But Sirius heard him getting out of bed as he let Harry scamper ahead of him out of the room.

An hour or so later, Harry sat surrounded by a pile of wrapping paper and boxes taller than his head. He seemed a little overwhelmed by the amount of gifts he’d received and was dealing with the pressure by sucking on a piece of shiny paper and ignoring everything except the small toy broom, which he refused to let go of.

Sirius sat on the floor of the parlor again, having helped Harry to open his presents, while Remus had curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and watched with bleary eyes and a smile. Harry wasn’t all that interested in most of the packages that friends of the Potters had sent for him. He’d been fascinated by a muggle spinning top and set of The Wombles novels (well, he’d been interested in putting the books in his mouth, anyway) that an old muggleborn friend of Lily’s had sent, and in the various biscuits and sweets, but otherwise, once he’d shrieked over the broom there was no getting him to let go of it.

Sirius glanced at Remus, smiling at Harry from the couch, his hair in absolute disarray and his eyes still sleepy even with the cup of tea in his hands. He felt his heart clench again - equal parts joy and grief. He loved Harry so much and Remus was the only person in the world who might feel the same about the boy. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, the two of them sharing Harry’s second Christmas like this. Sirius felt guilty for even enjoying it a little. Of course he would rather have been at the Potter’s house, getting tipsy off of butterbeer and the Potter’s secret family recipe for firenog which only James had been able to make after his parents died. Lily and Remus would have told them it was too early to be drinking, but by teatime James and Sirius would have been giggling and singing _God Bless Ye Merry Hippogriffs_ at the top of their lungs. He would have rather had James and Lily back, would have given up any amount of time with Harry as long as it meant he was back and happy with his parents. But this was what he got now. He was making do.

Sirius helped Harry onto the toy broom, ignoring Remus’ reserved disapproval as usual, and Harry zoomed delightedly about the room hovering just a foot above the ground so that his legs very nearly touched the floor. When it was clear that Harry was not in any immediate danger of falling off (it had about given Lily a heart attack to realize that even at one year old, her son was a natural at flying), Sirius flopped down onto the sofa beside Remus to watch.

The couch was not quite large enough for the both of them to be curled up on it the way Remus was, so Sirius ended up dangling half his long legs off one arm with his head against Remus’ stomach. Remus sighed as Sirius flopped half-across him, but made no move to rearrange himself.

“You do remember how to mend bones, don’t you?” Remus sounded amused. Harry, giggling, had just barely swerved around the Christmas tree. The toy broomstick did not go half as fast as a racing broom, and it came with several spells on it to prevent children from running into things, so Sirius really was not that worried.

“With the amount of time I spent fixing James up? ‘Course I do.” Sirius had mastered that spell in the third year. James, who never, ever fell from his ruddy broomstick, had climbed up a tree in the Forbidden Forest and been attacked by the tree’s bowtruckles, causing him to topple from quite a height. Sirius, who had climbed a tree not being guarded by any magical creatures, had scrambled down to find his friend’s arm bent into a ludicrously unnatural angle with a particularly stubborn bowtruckle still clinging to one of James’ fingers. Sirius had kicked at the creature until it scurried back up the tree, and James, looking quite as if he might faint from the pain, had told Sirius to hurry up and fix his arm.

They’d already been sent to the hospital wing twice that year and neither of them had been looking forward to another lecture from Professor McGonagall on how their reckless behavior was going to send both of them, and quite possibly her, to an early grave. So Sirius had mimicked the spell and wand movements he’d seen Madam Pomfrey (not to mention his own mother) do, and, quite to his own amazement, it had worked exactly as intended.

“Good. I have a terrible feeling Harry is going to take after his father in more than his flying abilities.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think there’s still hope some of Lily’s sensibilities will show up.”

Sirius felt Remus’ chuckle through the side of his face pressed to his stomach. “Well, Lily did end up marrying James afterall, so I’m not quite sure I trust her sensibilities.” 

“Ah, come on, we grew up alright.”

They were both quiet for a time while Remus drank his tea - milk, no sugar - and watched Harry go round and round in circles.

“Would you like your present now or after tea?” Sirius asked after a while.

“Might as well get it over with,” Remus said lightly.

Sirius sat up and pulled a small package out of his jeans pocket. He’d wrapped it with a sloppy bow and everything, and he saw Remus’ mouth twitch as he undid the uneven ribbon.

Inside the paper was a silver (not real, of course) crescent-moon pendant hung on a simple black cord. Remus picked it up, examined it, and raised an eyebrow at Sirius, who grinned.

“We can change the shape, if you like,” he said, reaching beneath his shirt and pulling out a matching pendant that hung around his own neck. “But I quite like this one. I’ve spelled them both so that if you need to get in touch with me quickly, you won’t have to send a patronus. It can’t accommodate a long message, but if you activate it mine will tell me where you are and I’ll be able to find you. And same on my end. You just have to rub it three times between your fingers, so it isn’t as suspicious or bulky to carry around like the two-way mirrors James and I used to use over the summer holidays.”

“That…” Remus paused, turning the pendant over in his hands. “Is actually quite a good idea.”

“Always the tone of surprise.”

Remus slipped the necklace on over his head and tucked the pendant beneath his own shirt. He was still in his pajamas. “Thank you,” he said, not quite meeting Sirius’ eyes.

“You’re welcome.” Sirius lay back down, and this time Remus rested a hand on his side while they watched Harry’s new toy stop him from zooming straight into the fireplace.

Along with Augusta and Neville Longbottom, they were joined that afternoon by Hagrid, McGonagall, Alastor Moody, Dedalus Diggle, Mundungus Fletcher, and Hestia Jones. Hagrid, never one to hide his emotions, wept openly when Harry, obviously fascinated by the large man, allowed him to pick him up and set him on his knee.

“There, there, Rubeus,” McGonagall said, patting Hagrid awkwardly on the back a few times.

“Yer goin’ to be a great wizard, Harry,” Hagrid said down to the child who could have fit into just one of his hands. “I just know it. With yer mum and dad they way they were and all. And to think I might have had to bring ya to those bloody great muggles…”

Remus, seeing the look on Sirius’ face, quickly inquired after the state of Hogwarts. The school had been open since September, but so few wizarding families had been willing to send their children away from home in the last months of Voldemort’s reign of terror that it had been largely empty at the start of term. Since Voldemort’s downfall, more and more students had been trickling back in.

Augusta Longbottom, who was, in truth, quite a formidable looking witch, arrived to tea exactly on time wearing a green hat with a stuffed vulture and a large red handbag which she politely declined to hang up with her coat and continued to hold throughout the tea. She stayed for precisely one hour, trading perfectly polite if cool small talk with McGonagall while Neville Longbottom crawled about on the floor with Harry. Harry had, at first, not seemed to know what to do with another human his size and he and Neville had sat staring at each other for several minutes without moving. Than Neville, who was quite a bit larger than Harry already, had reached up on the table, caught a chocolate frog, broke it in half, and offered the larger piece to Harry. And with that, their friendship seemed to be sealed.

When Augusta announced that she had to get her grandson back home for a family gathering, Sirius got the very strong impression that he ought to walk her out to the door. Indeed, once she had him alone she turned the full force of her gaze on him.

“Well, you seem to be getting on better than I had imagined, Black. I suppose it’s only practical that Harry and Neville see each other from time to time, would you agree?”

Sirius, feeling rather cornered, even though he had thought much the same thing, could only nod.

Dumbledore dropped by some time after that, insisting that he could not stay. He too asked to speak with Sirius privately, and once they were alone pulled a lumpy package from beneath his robes.

“This belongs to Harry,” he said. The lines in his face looked deeper than usual. “I borrowed it from his father before he died. I trust you will know what to do with it and return it to Harry when it is time.”

Sirius knew what the package contained the moment it was in his hands. James had confided in Sirius that he owned an invisibility cloak - “ _A real one, not those knock-off things they sell at joke stores_ ” - by the end of their first week at Hogwarts. They had wasted no time in using it to explore the castle at night. In their first year, it had even managed to cover all four of the Marauders.

“You borrowed it,” Sirius repeated numbly. He turned the package over in his hands, the familiar weight of it suddenly making him feel as though a hippogriff was sitting on his chest.

“I… had certain questions about its properties.” Dumbledore’s voice was full of an ancient sorrow. “It was selfish of me, I admit. James showed it to me the last time I visited Godric’s Hollow before they set up the last of their wards, and… I ought not to have taken it. My professional curiosity was so great, I did not stop to consider that James might have a greater use for it. Perhaps if I had... “ Dumbledore stopped and shook his head. “Well, it is done.”*

“What sort of questions?” Sirius had been under the cloak so often it seemed to him as familiar as his school uniform, if perhaps much more special.

“Oh, do not worry, the integrity of the cloak remains intact,” Dumbledore said. Sirius was not sure if he was evading the question on purpose, but decided he was not interested in pursuing it as Harry, who had missed his afternoon nap in all the excitement, began to cry from the other room.

That night, when the guests had left and Remus had succeeded in teaching Sirius to use _scourgify_ on the mess of wrapping paper in the parlor, Remus steered him to the front window and point across the street where a black, 1967 Chevy C-10 pickup was parked.

“I only did this because I know otherwise you will try to take Harry out on that damn bike and I simply cannot allow that to be the way you both die,” Remus said.

“Moony!” Sirius was already grabbing his jacket from the footed coat stand in the hall. “You are the best mate and co-parent a fellow could ask for.” Before Remus could stop him, he grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him on the cheek. Then he was out the door and hopping into the beauty of an automobile.


	11. 1981

## December 31st, 1981 - January 1st, 1982 - London

Sirius got up the nerve to take Harry with him to Diagon Alley on New Year’s Eve. He’d wanted Remus to come, but Remus had an appointment with Dumbledore in Hogsmeade that he refused to skip out on.

“What should we do when people recognize Harry?” Sirius asked as he was getting to leave. He’d had to tickle Harry into compliance to get his outdoor things on him, and as a result his mother’s portrait had woken up in the hall. 

_ I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, because I’m easy come, easy go... _

“You mean if they want to take pictures or something?”

“Yeah, or want him to kiss their babies or turn water into pumpkin juice.” 

Remus sighed, tugging at his hair again. It was a habit of his that Sirius found quite endearing. “Just tell them he’s not The Chosen One and walk away quickly.” 

“But he  _ is _ The Chosen One,” Sirius said. Remus swatted the top of his head with the copy of  _ The Daily Prophet _ rolled up in his hand. 

_ Little high, little low, anyway the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me... _

“Right, okay.” Sirius hoisted Harry up onto his hip. “Go for anonymity and run when it doesn’t work. Got it.” 

_ Mama, just killed a man, put a gun against his head... _

“And help me close the curtain before you leave. It’s an improvement, but if I have to listen to this song on repeat for much longer, I might kill a man.” 

As expected, a number of people tried to stop Sirius to speak to him and Harry. The rest of them gawked and a few bowed as they walked past. Harry clung to Sirius’ shirt, looking about him with wide green eyes and smiling at everyone. They went to Gringotts first, where Sirius set up his account with the money from Uncle Alphard, then made sure everything was in order with Harry’s inheritance from Lily and James. He’d already sent Remus to Knockturn Alley with a number of items (and given him half the profits over his protests), so he and Harry shared a strawberry and peanut butter ice cream from Florean Fortescue’s while they walked past Quality Quidditch Supplies. The broom in the window was the latest Cleansweep model, displayed hovering in all its glory. James had bought that model the second it came out last summer. He’d never had much time to fly it, with a baby, a war, and having to go into hiding. Sirius supposed it must have been blown up with the Potter’s house. 

“Well, never mind, little man,” Sirius said to the now thoroughly sticky child in his arms. “There’ll be a new model on the market by the time you’re ready to play, so we might as well wait a few years to get you a proper broom.” Harry smiled up at him, content as ever. 

Sirius picked up a number of items from the Slug and Jiggers Apothecary and as he was leaving he heard a voice calling his name. 

“Black! Oye, Black!” 

He pretended not to hear and continued making his way toward Flourish and Blotts, intending to hide from Harry’s unwanted admirers in the stacks of books for a bit. But then he heard heavy footsteps running behind him, and decided that if they were that desperate he’d be better off growling at them until they went away. 

He turned to find none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt jogging up to him. Kingsley was, unfortunately, as a beautiful as ever. He was still sporting a shaved head but no longer wore an earring, and his dark purple auror robes fit snugly over his broad shoulders. He stood several inches taller than anyone in the immediate vicinity and somehow still managed to comporte himself as if he belonged completely in any setting. 

Sirius was fifteen again and completely dumbstruck. Except that, actually, he’d never been able to shut up around Shacklebolt. He often thought that the older boy had been his only real crush at Hogwarts, and he’d acted as foolish and irritating around him as James had around Lily that year. 

There had only been one time he’d managed to hold his tongue around Shacklebolt, and that had been rather out of his control. 

It had been over Christmas break in his fifth year, the last year he and Shacklebolt had been at school together, and the height of his infatuation. He was leaving with James to go the Potter’s house as usual, but they had stayed at Hogwarts for an extra week because Mr. and Mrs. Potter had been put on quarantine after coming into contact with a rare strain of Venomous Tentacula during a trip to New Delhi. There was some concern that the venom that had gotten into Fleamont Potter’s skin might be communicable through the blood once it entered its host, so the Ministry of Magic was monitoring the Potters just to make sure they didn’t start a pandemic in England. 

Shacklebolt was staying at Hogwarts, presumably to study as his end of year exams approached, and because he seemed fairly keen on carrying out his duties as Head Boy. Which was how, probably, he had ended up catching Sirius trying to sneak into the restricted section of the otherwise deserted library on the night before he and James were due to leave. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt had indeed been quite capable of bodily lifting Sirius, but he had contented himself by gripping him by one arm and hauling him into an empty row of books inside the restricted section where they were out of sight of Madam Pince’s admittedly empty desk. 

“What do you think you are doing?” Shacklebolt had asked in his deep, husky voice that made Sirius shiver. 

“Studying?” Sirius had tried. Shacklebolt had him pinned up against the bookshelf by both his shoulders, his face just inches above his, and it had been rather difficult to breathe. 

Shacklebolt had snorted. “Try again.” 

“Looking for you, oh sun of my life?” Sirius had said, grinning up at him with all the charm he could muster. Shacklebolt hand’s tightened on his shoulders and he slammed him back against the bookshelf - not hard enough to hurt him, but with enough force to surprise him. 

“You do not want to push me, Black,” Shacklebolt said. His voice was his same even tempo, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye. “Or you may find that you bite off more than you can chew.” 

Before Sirius could say something stupid in reply, Kingsley’s mouth had covered his own, and -  _ Blessed Merlin’s pants, had he known that tongues could taste like that? _ \- still pinning Sirius against the shelf, he’d pressed their bodies flush against each other as they kissed. Sirius had been so giddy and breathless he thought he might pass out, sliding both of his arms around Kingsley’s neck, his fingernails digging into his skin. Kingsley was keeping him pretty tightly hemmed in against the bookshelf, but with his arms around his neck, Sirius managed to maneuver into a position to pull himself up off the floor and wrap both legs around Kingsley’s waist. 

Kingsley grunted what might have been a laugh against Sirius’ mouth, but Sirius had not been about to let the kissing stop now that it had finally started, and anyway, Kingsley had already let go of one shoulder to slide his hand up Sirius’ robes and grip his ass. He was absolutely the farthest thing from gentle - if anything he seemed as annoyed with Sirius as ever, but his tongue was in Sirius’ mouth, so Sirius didn’t much care. 

Much, much too soon - and without, to Sirius’ eternal disappointment, exploring anywhere else under his robes - Kingsley had pushed that hand into Sirius’ hair, yanking it in his fist, and bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Sirius had let out a little gasp at that, his legs tightening uncontrollably around Kingsley’s waist, and Kingsley had torn his mouth away with a somewhat breathless laugh. 

“Black,” he’d said in an infuriatingly calm tone of voice. “You know if you weren’t so annoying you might be kind of cute.” 

Sirius, his mouth throbbing, let his feet slide back down to the floor and straightened out his robes. His stomach felt as warm as if he’d just downed a pint of butterbeer and he could feel the heat in his face. He’d known he should say something there, something witty and casual like the big, obnoxious flirt that he was, but his head had been too full of a pleasant buzzing sound and Kingsley had still been pressing him back into that damn shelf, hand having left his hair to hold him down by his shoulder again, and he could not think of a single cohesive sentence. 

Kingsley had waited a second, and, when Sirius had been unable to compose himself in his usual manner, had finally released his shoulders, a crooked smile gracing his handsome face. “It’s alright,” he’d said, combing Sirius’ hair back into place and tucking it behind his ear. “I won’t tell.” 

That had been the last thing Sirius had been worried about. He was fairly certain the whole school knew his proclivities regarding both witches and wizards, and he’d already been thinking about how exactly he was going to brag about this to James the moment Kingsley’s lips had touched his. 

“Erm,” Sirius had said. “Right. Uh.” 

“Go on back to Gryffindor tower, would you? And Black? Could you please, please try to stop getting in trouble for the next, oh, six months so I can study for my N.E.W.T.s in peace?” 

Sirius had nodded, knowing full well that he was all too likely to get into more trouble than ever now that he, James, and Peter were running around as unregistered animagus, and left Kingsley to his books. He’d just stepped over the chain that blocked off the restricted section when Kingsley called his name again. 

“Black?” 

Sirius had looked around, his heart positively thudding. 

Kingsley stood with a book in one hand, grinning a little. “Have a good Christmas,” he’d said. 

And now here was Kingsley Shacklebolt, all grown up, in the middle of Diagon Alley, making Sirius feel like a love-struck puppy again. They’d only kissed that once, and by the time Sirius had come back from break he’d managed to pull himself together and gone back to flirting outrageously with Kingsley, who in turn had gone back to ignoring him. Sirius hadn’t minded much. It had only been a crush on an older, talented boy afterall, and just knowing that Kingsley had fancied him even a little had been enough. Besides, he’d had other things on his mind that year. 

“I’m glad I caught you,” Kingsley was saying, apparently unaware of the intense flashback Sirius was going through at the sight of him. “The both of you, I see.” He smiled down at Harry on Sirius’ hip, who smiled back up at him, all four teeth showing. 

“Uh,” Sirius said. “Yes, good to see you, Shacklebolt.” 

He’d known that Kingsley was in the Order, but he’d been undercover at the Ministry, keeping his valuable position as an auror, even if he was only a junior dark wizard hunter. Mad-Eye always spoke highly of Kingsley, which was saying something as Mad-Eye usually mistrusted anyone he hadn’t known for half a lifetime. 

“I wanted to tell you,” Kingsley said, and Sirius was somewhat embarrassed to find that his voice still had its old effect on him. “That I was sorry to hear about the Potters. I always liked James.” He held out his hand to Sirius.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, shaking the proffered hand with the one not holding Harry. “I always thought you wanted to strangle the lot of us.”

Kingsley smiled. His skin was perfect, Sirius noted distantly. Bloody perfect as usual. “Only because you had some growing up to do. You and James were clearly talented and I hated to see that go to waste. But you both figured things out by the time you left school, I hear.” 

Sirius would have asked how, exactly, Kingsley had heard this, but Kingsley continued “And I heard about what you all did in the war. These last few years have been mayhem and I haven’t been able to keep up with as many people as I might have liked, but I heard about the battle on the Lestrange’s estate last Spring.” 

“Oh,” Sirius said, instinctively hugging Harry closer to his side. “Yes, well…” 

“Have you thought about talking to Alastor about a job?” 

Sirius blinked. “What, as an auror?” 

Kingsley nodded. “Like I said, I’ve heard about what you’ve done, Black. Talent like yours, with your reckless personality,” he winked “I think you’d fit right in, if you wanted to. Depends on how well you’ve learned to deal with authority figures.” 

Sirius and James had talked about becoming aurors, but then the war had broken out for real and joining the Order had been the priority. The aurors had been trying to help, of course, but they’d been restrained by bureaucracy and prone to spies. Still, it was the one job Sirius had ever properly considered. 

He looked down at Harry, whose jet black curls were running wild in the slight breeze. 

“Interesting proposal, Shacklebolt, but I think I'm going to be rather tied up for the next eleven years or so.” 

Harry was quite heavy, even small for his age he was still really much too big to be carried around all day, and Sirius’ arms were aching by the time he buckled him into the carseat in the back cab of his new vehicle. Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes with both tiny fists. It made Sirius’ heart swell painfully. 

“You can sleep in the car, if you like, little one. Don't worry.” Sirius found he talked to Harry more and more these days. He wasn't sure how much the baby understood, but Harry liked it when people talked to him. He was almost never afraid of strangers unless he was already tired or stressed, and he smiled and babbled most of the day. He also liked it when Sirius sang to him, which he did often and loudly. He didn't know the words to many children's songs but did have the entire discography of the Ramones memorized. Lupin was usually the one who sang him proper nursery rhymes and lullabies in his soft voice ( _ “Sympathy for the Devil is not a lullaby, Sirius”) _ . 

Remus wasn't home yet when Sirius and Harry got back, so Sirius made an attempt at dinner. He figured he could handle boiling potatoes, but then realized he had no idea what the consistency of a properly boiled potato was supposed to feel like. “What do you think, Harry?” he'd asked, even though Harry was napping in a much smaller cot Remus had brought home from Argos, a muggle store that Remus insisted he could not possibly explain to Sirius. “I get the feeling you are an overcooked potato versus undercooked potato sort of boy, if it comes down to it.” 

“If Master wishes,” came Kreacher’s creaking voice, making Sirius jump about a foot. He spun around to find Kreacher standing at the stove, already sunk into a half-bow. Or was that just the way he always stood these days? “Kreacher could cook dinner for Master and… young master.” 

Sirius stared at the house-elf, all his feelings of revulsion at the tip of his tongue. Kreacher’s physical appearance did nothing to help. The rag he wore was still grey and grimy, and there were yellow-green gobs of earwax visible whenever one of his ears flopped back on his head. His skin was the color of yellowing parchment and was excessively knobbly around his joints. His hook nose hung so far from his face that it looked like a beak in profile and his eyes were almost always watery. 

And yet, Sirius had begun to notice that extra blankets always appeared in whatever room Harry was in. Nappies, wipes, and baby powder turned up in places Sirius had never put them, but just where they were needed. Harry’s bottles were clean before he’d even thought to charm them, and the same was true for Harry’s clothes. It was obvious that Kreacher was expressing a fondness for Harry, although he had refrained from overtly interacting acting with the child in Sirius’ sight. He’d even stopped muttering about the blasphemy that had been done to Walberga’s portrait. 

Remus’ face as he had told Sirius in his practical, no-nonsense way, that his distaste in Kreacher was tantamount to abuse, flashed in Sirius’ head. He’d liked the house-elves at Hogwarts. He and the other boys had snuck into the kitchens enough times to be on first-name basis with half the kitchen staff. If truth be told, it was Sirius who found the entrance to the kitchens, but it was James who insisted on introducing himself to every house-elf they spoke with, shaking their hands and inquiring after their day. James was like that - always friendly, always thoughtful of the people that others didn’t pause to think about. He could be proud and arrogant too, and he had his biases, but they mostly began and ended with Slytherins. 

James would have been sympathetic to Sirius’ mistrust of Kreacher, would have listened to him rage about the injustice of having to be kind to someone who had stood by and watched, someone who had  _ just followed orders _ , even if they really were part of a deeper bond he couldn’t have ignored. And when Sirius had railed against it all and worn himself out, James would have just looked at him with an equal amount of sadness and judgement in his eyes and Sirius would have known exactly what he had to do. 

“That… would be helpful,” Sirius said slowly, reluctantly. “Thank you, Kreacher.” 

Kreacher’s nosed dipped closer to the floor. “Kreacher is happy to help, Master,” he said. Then added, to the floor, “Kreacher will have to find his old cookbooks if young master is to be properly fed, oh yes. Kreacher cannot let young master live off of burned eggs and raw potatoes.” 

Sirius decided this was worth ignoring, and took the still sleeping Harry out into the dining room. 

By the time Remus arrived at Number 12, Harry was awake and a table full of mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry stuffing, a roast, and warm, fresh bread had been laid out on the table. Pudding in the form of spotted dick with clotted cream waited to the side, and a fresh branch of candles had been put out to light the display. 

“What’s this?” Remus asked, bending to kiss Harry’s head and eyeing the food with surprise and a touch of suspicion. “Did you steal someone’s New Year’s dinner?” 

“You always assume the worst of me,” Sirius said in tones of mock-hurt. 

“You’ve given me a solid eleven years to go off of,” Remus retorted. 

“I think you should forgive at least the first five by now. I am a responsible guardian now.” 

“Mm.” 

“Alright, Kreacher cooked.” Sirius raised his hands quickly. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t even ask him to do it. He offered and I very, very  _ nicely _ accepted.” 

Remus looked at him for a moment, until Sirius felt thoroughly scrutinized, and then he smiled. It was a tired, but genuine smile. “Good,” he said, and joined them at the table. 

“Guess who I ran into in Diagon Alley?” Sirius said later, when they were done with dinner and nibbling at their pudding with a cup of tea each. 

“Half the wizarding world, I would imagine. You did pick quite a day to test your limits.” 

“Yes, but besides that, we got flagged down by good old Shacklebolt.” 

Remus choked on the sip of tea he’d just taken and coughed half of it back out into his cup. His face turned a rather brilliant shade of pink with the coughing, Sirius noted. 

“Alright there, Moony?” 

“Yes,” Remus managed, gulping down a mouthful of tea quickly in an attempt to clear up his coughing fit and grimacing as the liquid appeared to scald his tongue. “I’m just surprised you didn’t try to bring him home with you.” 

“Who says I didn’t try?” Sirius said, but it was half-hearted and he thought Remus knew it. Sure, he’d fantasized about Kingsley for about a year and a half when he was a teenager, and sure, his voice still made a shiver run down Sirius’ spine, but he held all of that at a distance now. 

The war had brought Lily and James closer. If it hadn’t been for the war, it might have taken them years to get married and have a child (children, probably. James had always wanted a large family). They’d felt mortality breathing down their necks at an age when they were supposed to feel invincible. James and Sirius had been invincible for so long already, so cocky and sure of their ability to face danger and live, that maybe it had been time for them to realize they were not immortal. James and Lily had married out of love, Sirius truly believed that, but they had also married out of fear. 

Sirius, who had never been in love anyway, became even more afraid of it. He didn’t want to fall in love with someone only to lose them in the war, and they were already losing so many people. Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, who’d been taken down by five death eaters. Benjy Fenwick, Dorcas Meadows, poor Marlene McKinnon and her whole family. And Edgar Bones, of course, who had been attacked in his own house and murdered alongside his wife and children. And Caradoc Dearborn, whose body they never even found. 

Sirius had flirted with Hestia Jones for awhile, but he’d never pursued her. Flirting was just another way to keep people at a distance, if one was clever about it. 

The war was over now (it was over, wasn’t it?), and Sirius supposed that if he wanted to… He couldn’t even finish the thought. He couldn’t imagine bringing someone home to Grimmauld Place, certainly not with Harry and Remus there, and he found that he really didn’t care to imagine it. Perhaps that would change, in time. Perhaps his old destructive habits would come back, even with the responsibility he held for Harry. He’d had a bit of a problem in seventh year with drinking and experimental mood-altering charms and, well, he wouldn’t have called it a problem with sleeping around, but the first two problems had tended to lead him to wake up in other students’ beds without much memory of how he’d gotten there. 

There had been one night he’d coming stumbling back into Gryffindor dormitory with his clothes in disarray and crawled under the covers in Remus’ bed. He had the vague idea that he’d meant to get into bed with James, actually, but the world had been spinning and he’d smelled that  _ wolf-chocolate-home _ scent and he’d absolutely needed to be wrapped up in Remus’ arms. 

To his drunken (or perhaps high? Sirius’ memory of what exactly he’d been doing that night was foggy at best) surprise, Remus had opened his arms and allowed Sirius to bury his face in his friend’s chest. Remus had stroked his hair, and, for reasons Sirius had not been able to fathom at the time, he’d started to sob. Remus had shushed him, in much the same way as Sirius shushed an upset Harry, actually, and held him, running his fingers through his long hair. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Sirius had whispered over and over again into Remus’ chest. 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Remus had whispered back, squeezing him tightly. “You’re a good man, Sirius.” 

“What’s wrong with Padfoot?” Peter had asked sleepily from his own bed. 

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Remus had said while Sirius shook in his arms. “He’s just drunk. Go back to sleep.” 

They hadn’t talked about it in the morning, but Sirius had scaled back on his drinking after that. He was fine now, had been fine for some time, but he could only imagine what he’d do around someone like Kingsley if he had a few firewhiskeys. 

After they put Harry to bed, in his new cot for once, Remus and Sirius both stayed up in the parlor until midnight. They reminisced a little, which was a dangerous business, but something they both needed. Sirius talked about James, and Remus talked about Lily. Neither of them cried and neither of them mentioned Peter. 

At midnight, they raised a toast to everyone they’d lost that year. They said their names. It was a long list. It was 12:03 before they finished and took their first drink. Sirius kissed Remus on the cheek and lay down with his head in his lap as the long, bloody year ended.


	12. 1982

## January, 1982 - London and Thereabouts

By the end of the first week in January, Sirius had taken down the last of the Christmas decorations. By the end of the second week of January, he was going stir-crazy. With the dissolution of the holiday spirit, Grimmauld place began to feel like a prison. A spacious, relatively warm prison with books, food, and a personal servant, but a prison nonetheless.

“No one is stopping you from going out,” Remus said, when Sirius snapped at him one evening out of crankiness. “Even Dumbledore thinks it’s safe enough for Harry to be out in public now.”

Dumbledore had not come to Grimmauld Place since Christmas, but he did send an owl every week or so. Remus was still meeting with him up at Hogsmeade or the school every so often, but he was doing less and less work for the Order. Sirius had seen him flipping through the employment section of _The Daily Prophet_ the other day.

It wasn’t as if Harry wasn’t a full-time job of his own. He was a good kid, but he had more energy than even Sirius knew what to do with. So Sirius started taking him out.

They just went on walks at first. Sometimes Sirius pushed Harry in a pram, but mostly he carried him strapped in a papoose or held his hand while he tottered ungracefully along. A lot of older women stopped him on the street to ask him about Harry. Sirius found that after two months of only a one-year-old for company, he didn’t really mind talking to muggle strangers. Mostly they cooed over Harry and told Sirius about their children or their grandchildren and occasionally asked Sirius if he had a wife. Sirius always said yes, because that seemed by far the safest answer.

Remus came home one evening and handed Sirius a pack with a detachable baby carrier.

“So we can go hiking,” Remus said.

Sirius looked at him warily. “You the mean that muggle thing where they try to get themselves lost in the woods on purpose?” 

Then Remus actually took him hiking and it was a clear day and even though it was cold the sun was out and the air tasted like heather and the wind whipping Sirius’ face felt as good as it did on his motorbike. Sirius carried Harry on the way up and Remus took him on the way down and they talked and laughed and _didn’t talk_ and that was just as good. Harry fell asleep on the car ride home and Remus turned out to know all the words to R.E.M.’s _Radio Free Europe_ and they sang it together.

It was easily the best day Sirius had had since October.

They started going on day hikes every Friday when it wasn’t raining. It helped, to get out of the house, out of London even. Harry loved running through the long grass and tumbling down the smaller hills with Sirius (Remus never engaged in this part of the outing). Harry loved being chased and being carried. Sometimes, if no one was around, Sirius would change into his dog form and run ahead of them on the path. Remus called it “romping” and “frolicking”. It was when Sirius felt most free.

They were still in an English winter, though, and one Friday they were caught in a rainstorm 3/4ths of the way up the path. Deciding it would be too suspicious to have water-propelling charms on while walking, they took shelter under a large tree, Remus laying the charms along the branches so that they’d stay surreptitiously dry should any muggles be caught out of doors with them. Sirius sat down and took out the cheese and nuts he had in his pack. He always had snacks on him these days ( _“Harry’s not going to starve if he doesn’t have immediate, 24 hour access to a pumpkin pasty, Sirius”_ ).

With Harry in his lap, contentedly picking apart the cheese, Sirius looked up at Remus who had remained standing, leaning against the tree trunk.

“Do you ever feel guilty about enjoying this?” Sirius asked.

Remus looked at him with one his sad smiles. Sirius was never quite sure how Remus managed to do that, to smile at him in a way that made him feel understood without having say any of the things that were passing between them. “About enjoying Harry?”

There was a lump in Sirius’ throat. “More or less.”

Remus sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. A bit. I know that they’d want us to have a life, to give Harry a life, but it’s… Maybe if there had been time to grieve properly, things wouldn’t feel so…”

Sirius hadn’t fully realized that Remus’ feelings were as tangled and messy as his own. He felt immediately guilty anew for being so self-absorbed. He always did that, and Remus never did.

“It’s not like I wouldn’t give it all up to have them back,” Sirius said. “But then I think about losing Harry, and it’s… But then I think he’s not mine, anyway. And then I feel guilty for thinking that, because he is.”

Remus tilted his head back against the tree trunk, his eyes open, the dimmed light of the cloudy sky washing out the usual blue of his irises into a pooling grey. “It’s always in the damn rain,” he muttered.

Sirius blinked. “What?”

“We’re both so bloody dramatic, we always have to have these wretched heart-to-hearts under a tree in the middle of a damn storm.”

It took a moment for Sirius to realize what Remus was talking about. The only time Sirius could remember Remus bringing that up in at least the last five years was the night he’d first arrived at Grimmauld Place and asked Sirius to prove he was really himself.

_Where were we when I told you my greatest secret?_

_Your greatest secret, Remus? You have so many._

Sirius laughed in spite of himself, in spite of everything. “Everyone always thinks I’m the dramatic one, but you’re right, you have the flare.”

“In my defense, I was twelve.”

“You? Grandfather Professor Prefect Lupin? You were never twelve in your life.”

Remus smiled without the layers of sadness and sympathy this time, and sat down with his back to the tree, still looking up at the sky and the torrents of rain falling harmlessly to either side of them.

“I never told James,” he said.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Sirius said automatically.

“It might have.”

“It never mattered to me.”

“Didn’t it?” Remus didn’t wait for Sirius to answer this. Sirius was grateful. He wasn’t sure he had an answer. “It’s not like… Well, it isn’t like being a - a werewolf.” Even after all these years, Remus still stumbled around that word. “It isn’t something that happens to me, it’s just…”

“Just you.”

Remus nodded. “And I didn’t think I owed that to anyone, not even James. I always figured I’d tell him some day, if it came up. Or that you’d slip up and tell him. Or Lily would. I figured someday he’d know. And now I’ll never know how he would have taken it.”

“I never told anyone. I know that wasn’t your main point here, but just so you know.”

“I know.”

Sirius leaned over and rested his nose on the top of Harry’s head. Was it creepy to smell the top of a baby’s head? Nothing in the world smelled like that. Like pure uncorrupted summer.

“Well, if you like, I can tell you exactly what James would have said.” Sirius lifted Harry out of his lap and stretched his legs where they were starting to fall asleep. Harry crawled across the dirt and pine needles to Remus, who picked the child up in turn and held him to his chest rather tighter than usual from the look of it.

“Oh you can, can you?”

“Yes,” Sirius said firmly. “We were semi-platonic soul-mates. I know precisely what his reaction would be. Would you like to roleplay it?”

“No.” Remus was smiling again, pink starting to creep up his neck as he flushed slightly. He glanced down at Harry. “No roleplaying in front of the kid.”

“Remus John Lupin, did you just besmirch mine own two ears with an innuendo?” Sirius pressed a hand to his chest in mock-horror. “Just for that, I am definitely doing my best James Potter impression.” He cleared his throat and adopted his most posh accent. “I say, Lupin ol’ chap, what I hear you saying is that you weren’t born Remus Lupin?” Sirius looked meaningful at Remus who looked, if possible, on the verge of both laughter and an anxiety attack. He played along and shook his head.

Sirius continued, laying on the posh air as thickly as possible, “Do you mean to tell me, dear fellow, that you named yourself and the very subtle name you picked translates to Wolfy McWolfman?! And you thought that _we wouldn’t notice you’re a werewolf_?”

Remus looked at him for a long moment, his cheeks red, biting his lip. Then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he slid down to the ground, his hair in the pine needles and dirt, still holding Harry on his chest, who giggled along with him because he always mimicked Remus. Sirius crawled over and joined them there, chuckling away on the ground in the middle of a rainstorm. It was a desperate kind of laughter perhaps, too much over too little. But it was the sort of thing that held them together.


	13. 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content Warning*: This chapter contains some transphobia in a hospital setting (which I mention because as a trans person who has experienced misgendering etc in hospitals, I understand this is a pretty prevalent thing and that the context of the experience can matter) 
> 
> Also contains a very small amount of body horror in re: being a werewolf

## February, 1981 - London and Thereabouts

Augusta Longbottom lived just outside Stratford-Upon-Avon in a very proper English manor. Her garden hedges were trimmed in uniform columns and the path that led up to the front door was maintained with just the appropriate amount of grass between each stone to give the impression that this was still the country.

Sirius took Harry there to play with Neville on the first weekend of February, nervously drinking tea with Augusta in her back garden while the boys scampered about the yard playing with a soft toy quaffle.

“Has Harry showed any signs of magical ability yet?” Augusta asked over her teacup. Everything on the table matched the delicately understated floral print of those cups.

“Uh.” Sirius had to think about it. The only thing inexplicable about Harry was that Lily had once tried to trim his hair and it had grown back just as wild the next day. “Not exactly.”

Augusta sighed a long sigh and clinked her cup against the saucer as she set it back down. “I suppose if the rumors about him are true, he has already shown more magical ability than most of the wizarding world put together. Oh don’t look at me like that,” she added as Sirius mentally prepared to evade questions. “I’m not asking. Whatever happened that night, I doubt you have any more answers than the rest of us. I am merely curious about the boy’s development.” She took a watercress and cucumber sandwich from the tray and took a delicate bite.

Neville, being rather taller and rounder than Harry, could quite easily have kept the quaffle away from the other boy, but everytime he got ahold of it and Harry started dancing around trying to take it back from him, he handed it right over. Sirius watched them whirl about the grass. Harry seemed to be having the time of his life and he wondered, suddenly, about the Dursleys and Harry’s cousin - what was his name? Diddles? Dubby? He would be about Harry’s age. Would Harry have been happier with a sibling?

Sirius certainly had been, for a time. Regulus had been his favorite thing in the world when he was first born. He’d been so proud to be an older brother, even if he’d only been two years older. He’d held the baby as often as he was allowed. He only remembered that vaguely, but there were plenty of moving photographs to back it up. They’d played and learned together and fought a lot as kids, but always in a way that ended in wrestling matches and shared sweets. And then Sirius had started becoming, well, Sirius. He’d made friends with the muggle children at the park and worn a girl’s pink headband and started asking questions about the purity of blood. Walberga started teaching them separately, started forbidding Sirius from playing with his own brother. Sometimes, when Sirius was still small, he’d sleep in Regulus’ bed after a beating because he knew his mother wouldn’t touch him in front of her younger son.

Maybe he should have been honest with Regulus. Maybe, if he’d known why Sirius had stopped playing with him, had known what their parents were really like, he wouldn’t have been so eager to please them. Maybe Sirius could have stopped him from going down the dark path that lead to the death eaters and then to death.

“It’s not so unusual,” Augusta was saying, unaware of where Sirius’ thoughts had gone. “Not to show any signs by this age. My Frank had, of course, but he was an unusually gifted boy. Neville hasn’t shown any sign yet, but then, I dare say he and Harry both have been through quite a shock at such a young age. It’s one of the reasons I felt they ought to play together. And they do look quite happy together.”

“Yes,” Sirius said, as Harry, having been running from the other boy, paused to let Neville catch up to him, grinning all the while.

“Well, Black, here’s how I see it.” Augusta shook out the napkin on her lap and placed it on the table, her long red nails contrasted against the soft off-white linen. “You do not seem the sort to be very interested in taking high tea with an old woman every other Saturday just so that your godson can play with my grandson. And I can’t say you are the sort of man I typically invite to my teas, although you’re certainly welcome to join my witches spellbook society if you feel so inclined. My proposition then is that we arrange for you to leave Harry in my care once or twice a month. I’m sure he would benefit from a strong female influence in his life, and I assure you that the wards on my manor and these gardens are nothing to be trifled with. You may test them yourself before you go, although I warn you that prodding them may result in some rather unpleasant experiences for you.”

“I…” Sirius hesitated. The thought of leaving Harry anywhere other than Grimmauld Place, with anyone other than Remus filled him with dread. But then, so did the thought of bi-weekly tea with Augusta Longbottom. “I’ll have to talk it over with Remus, but it’s very kind of you to offer. Neville is always welcome at our house.”

Sirius thought Augusta was keeping herself from snorting. “Thank you. If it would make you boys feel better about leaving Harry with me, I am sure Minerva McGonagall would be happy to provide you with a testament to my abilities.”

Sirius did ask McGonagall for her advice on the matter, something that he tried his best to avoid. He’d had all too many lectures from McGonagall in his seven years at Hogwarts. She wrote back at once, confirming that while in danger of learning some proper manners, Harry would be perfectly safe at the Longbottom house.

“She might take him overnight sometime,” Sirius said when Augusta sent over her schedule for the next _three months_ and told him to pick out a few play dates for Harry. “If we asked. You know, so I could look out for you during the full moon.”

Remus shook his head. He was sitting on the floor with Harry, rolling a ball with him. It was a constellation orb that showed a spinning galaxy of lights - not exactly a child’s toy, but Harry didn’t show all that much interest in toys as long as he had something to wave around or put in his mouth.

“We couldn’t put her out like that. And I’d tear this house apart, even with you here. Besides, I don’t want…” Remus spun the orb on the floor and the lights inside winked and blurred. Even just talking about the full moon made him look tired, Sirius thought, not for the first time. “I don’t want to bring that into Harry’s world. Even if he’s not here. I don’t want to bring it home.”

The morning after February’s full moon, Sirius dropped Harry off at the Longbottom’s manor. He’d packed a bag full of nappies, snacks, and one of the muggle picture books that Harry liked to chew on best, but he’d gotten the feeling Augusta was a little affronted when he handed it to her.

“Uh, just in case he needs anything,” he said, before fleeing back to the safety of his car. He’d already tampered with the engine and put a few minor charms on the vehicle. Mostly he’d done some muggle-repelling spells to make sure he didn’t get pulled over for speeding. With those in play, he managed the trip back into London in less than half the time it took a regular muggle car.

Harry’s playdate had been arranged at the last minute this time around, and Sirius hadn’t told Remus what he was doing. He hadn’t said anything through November or December, and when he’d tried to bring the matter up in January, Remus had only changed the subject. Sirius had sulked about that at first. Remus wouldn’t even let him bring Harry to St. Mungo’s to drop Remus off or pick him up, and he’d been staying the day before and after the full moon because he didn’t want Harry to see any of the effects the lunar calendar had on him.

Remus was always grumpy and distracted the night before a full moon. He was restless and less filtered than usual. He almost never slept those nights, staying awake pacing or watching the night sky.

“Remus, Harry can see you be a cranky insomniac,” Sirius had said, exasperated, but Remus ignored him.

The day after, if it had been a particularly bad change (and there were varying degrees), Remus would sometimes still be covered in half-healed bites and scratches. Sometimes he was weak and shaking, sometimes he threw up, sometimes he slept for 24 hours. His general pallor before and after the full moon had leant a certain authenticity to his excuses of illness, back when they were in school.

Three days a month, Sirius thought, was far too many to spend in a hospital bed. He couldn’t get the picture of the Shrieking Shack out of his head. His days there had been wonderful, it was true, but he remembered going to meet Remus there on the days-after, before he and James had managed the Animagus spell. It hadn’t seemed like a wonderful place at all then. Remus had always been so battered from trying to tear himself apart. Sirius and James had kept him from wounds like that for six years, even after Hogwarts, and Sirius felt like he was failing him by not protecting him now.

St. Mungo’s had a car park that looked to the muggle-eye like a construction site, so Sirius drove in, parked, and found the elevator whose only disguise was an out-of-order sign. Muggles really were terrible and seeing past their own noses. The elevator went straight into the reception area, but Sirius by-passed the line to check-in and followed his memory up to the first floor. This was where the wards for Creature Induced Injuries were located and he quickly found a young trainee healer who introduced himself as Hippocrates Smethwyk and asked how he might be of assistance.

“I’m looking for Remus Lupin,” Sirius said. “Uh, here for observation over the full moon?”

“Let me see here, let me see.” Smethwyk had a gigantic stack of parchment on his clipboard and he began to flip through it. He couldn’t have been much older than Sirius, and Sirius found himself wondering what the war was like for him as trainee healer. How much death had he seen, starting his career in healing during the middle of a war?

“Lupin… Lupin… Ah, yes, I see, not on this floor. It looks like she’s up on the fourth floor. All of our secure rooms are on the long-term ward. Do you know how to find the stairs?”

Sirius opened his mouth, considered putting his fist into Smethwyk’s face, thought better of it, closed his mouth, and nodded tersely. The stairs were lined with portraits of famous witches and wizards and a few of them called out to him as climbed up the next three floors.

“I say,” said a man with a pock-marked face, calling to the portrait on his right as Sirius passed him. “Doesn’t this lad look just like Phineas?”

Sirius froze. The lady in the next portrait up was wearing a ruffled collar that fanned out at least a foot all the way around her neck. Her shrewd face peered down at him, oil lines crinkling about her eyes.

“You’re quite right, Lancelot. Eyebrows just like him. I’d quite thought his line had died out. Well, lad? Are you related to the Nigellus family? Phineas is around here somewhere, if he’s not off at Hogwarts.” 

“No,” Sirius said quickly, and started walking faster.

The fourth floor was quiet. Sirius wandered around for at least five minutes before he could find a healer. Most of the floor was taken up by a closed ward for long-term patients who cohabited in comfortable-looking stalls with tapestry partitions closing off their individual beds. Sirius looked through the small window in one door and saw a man sitting in bed whose face was half-transfigured into that of a giant bird. Sirius couldn’t help wincing at that. If he and James had made any serious miscalculations when they became animagus, they could very well have ended up here.

“Can I help you?”

Sirius turned from the window to find an older woman with a shock of white hair tied back in a bun through which she had stuck her wand for safekeeping. Sirius repeated his request for Lupin, and, after frowning at her clipboard for a minute, she lead him back to a set of doors at the far end of the hall. It was too quiet back there and Sirius began to feel antsy and on edge at once.

“Just a moment,” the healer said to Sirius, and left him in the hallway as she walked through one of the doors into what seemed to be a combined office/supply closet. Sirius, with the finely honed instincts of seven years of mischief, stuck the toe of his boot in the door so that it remained open a crack.

“Helbert?” he heard the witch call. “I’ve got someone here who wants to pick up Remus Lupin.”

“Lupin? The werewolf? It’s not due to discharge until tomorrow,” came the voice of a wizard from somewhere in the room. “I haven’t even been in to uncuff it yet.”

“Yes, but he says his name is Sirius Black, and that’s who’s listed as Lupin’s emergency contact, so I suppose he’s authorized to take him home if he wants to.”

The wizard harrumphed. “Can’t imagine he wants to. Can you, Imogen? Imagine having _that_ in your house.”

“He’s only a werewolf one night of the month, Helbert,” the witch said. “I’m sure he’s perfectly safe the rest of the time.”

Sirius let the door close. He was pretty sure if he heard anymore he would march in and rip the unseen Helbert’s throat out. Which didn’t sound like a terrible plan to him, but he was pretty sure Remus would have frowned on it.

Sirius walked by the doors, trying to hear some sign of life from behind any of them, suppressing his rage by imagining the look on the healers’ faces if they walked out to find a giant black Grim waiting for them. Maybe just a bite of Helbert, as his dog self…

The office door opened and the witch came out again, wand in hand this time. She smiled apologetically at Sirius. “We’ve got to finish the paperwork to discharge him early, but I can let you in to wait with him, if you like. He’s perfectly safe to be around by this point.”

Sirius opened his mouth to say _I know_ , but thought better of his words again and nodded.

“They’re usually a bit of a mess, this early in the morning after a full moon,” the witch continued, as she tapped her wand on one of the doors. “I’m not sure if he’s even up yet. I’ve got to lock the door behind you and it’s got a silencing spell so just tap your wand against it if you need anything before we’re done with his chart, alright?”

She opened the door and stepped back, letting Sirius inside. The healer lit the torch on the wall before closing the door and leaving Sirius to take in the room. It was just barely four broom lengths across and two brooms wide. Sirius had once seen a muggle movie (courtesy of Lily) where the muggle hospital had padded cells for patients in danger of hurting themselves. This room reminded him a bit of that, except that they hadn’t even bothered to put pads on the walls. There were old, suspicion stains in the plaster and claw marks on the ceiling. There were no beds, no objects at all except for a hospital issue blanket hung over the doorknob.

Remus was curled up in the corner farthest from the door, oblivious to Sirius. Even in the dim light, Sirius could see from where he stood frozen at the door that Remus had long gashes across his back and sides. He was naked and shivering on the floor.

Sirius grabbed the blanket off the doorknob and made his legs move the short distance over to his friend. “Remus?” he whispered. Even that sounded loud in the stillness.

Remus opened his eyes. They were still bloodshot and his dilated pupils drowned out nearly all the blue of his irises. For a moment, they looked straight through Sirius, still lupine and alien.

One of Remus’ wrists was manacled to the floor with a silver cuff and chain, giving him just enough leeway that Sirius thought he could probably get on all fours, but not enough to stand upright. There was a silver chain around his neck that locked into the wall, keeping him from even reaching the door without choking. Sirius stared at the chain. It was loose around his neck now, but during the change surely it would be tight enough to nearly strangle him, even if he stayed immobile. Sirius could see an imprint where it must have pressed into his wolf throat. Silver didn’t burn Remus’ skin, but he couldn’t break it.

“Sirius?” Remus’ voice was hoarse. He must have been screaming and howling all night. He tried to clear his throat and coughed up a drop of blood onto his lower lip. “What are you doing here?” He struggled to sit up and fell back with a gasp as a rip in his thigh reopened. “Is Harry-”

“Harry’s fine,” Sirius said. His voice was shaking. He knelt down at Remus’ head and gently settled the blanket over Remus’ lower half. “I came to pick you up.”

Remus closed his eyes, seeming too tired to keep them open. “You weren’t supposed to,” he rasped. “You weren’t supposed to see.”

“Well now I have. Serves you right for not even telling me you put me as your emergency contact.”

“We’re raising a child together,” Remus murmured, eyes remaining closed. “I think we’re there.” He coughed again.

“Merlin, Remus. Why didn’t you tell me this is what it’s like?” Sirius sat down and gently - very gently - pulled Remus’ head onto his lap, stroking his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. He was clammy and still shaking. Sirius hadn’t seen Remus like this since before they’d started having adventures out on full moon nights. Remus always said that having James, Sirius, and Peter there kept him from losing himself completely. Sirius had forgotten what it was like to see him in the aftermath of a change unmitigated by the company of the Marauders. 

“You don’t have to put yourself through this.”

Remus, never opening his eyes, turned his face and buried it in Sirius shirt. He was still shaking and Sirius couldn’t tell if he was crying, but he thought he might be and that was bad enough.

“You’re not doing this anymore, Moony. What do you think I became a giant hulking dog for? James would skin me like a shrivel fig if he saw what I’ve been letting you do.”

“You became a dog to get people to cuddle you,” Remus said into Sirius’ shirt front. His arm was bent at an odd angle under him where the manacle pulled at his wrist. There were bite marks all up and down that arm, like he’d tried to gnaw himself free.

“A secondary motivation at most.” Sirius skimmed his fingertips across Remus’ throat where the chain had pulled against it. “Godric. I’m going to commit murder on our way out.”

Remus couldn’t seem to find the energy to lift his head because he kept speaking into Sirius’ stomach. “Don’t. Promise me you won’t even say anything, Padfoot. They’ve done the best they can.”

“ _The best they can?!_ ” Sirius wanted to hit the wall. “Merlin’s saggy balls, Remus, you said yourself that they don’t even treat you like a person. They can’t even get your… I mean, the way they talk about you. They’re supposed to be healers, they’re supposed to take care of you.”

“This _is_ taking care of me.” Remus’ voice broke with exhaustion. “As long as they keep me away from others it doesn’t matter if they keep me safe from myself. It doesn’t matter if they think I’m a thing, or a girl, or a damn hinkypunk. The first time I was here they tried to put me on the first floor and I broke the restraints during the change. I nearly bit a healer. I can’t… I can’t do that. I can’t.”

He _was_ crying, Sirius realized. He cupped the back of Remus’ neck, stroking his hair with his other hand. A fifteen year-old Sirius wouldn’t have stopped to listen to reason. Maybe not even a twenty-one year-old Sirius, if he was being honest. He might have just gone around blasting up this hospital to make a point. He used to live his life as if there weren’t consequences - what had it mattered, if he’d died or been sent to Azkaban?

“I’ll take care of you,” he said. He could see the scratches on Remus’ bare shoulders already beginning to close. Even Dumbledore had never been able to explain why the bites or claw marks a werewolf gave to themselves or another wolf healed so quickly. Not that Sirius had asked Dumbledore, who as far as they knew had remained blissfully ignorant of the Marauder’s monthly activities, but Remus had.

Remus shook his head and coughed hard, blood coming up onto Sirius’ black Pink Floyd shirt.

“I will.” Sirius passed his thumb over the back of Remus’ neck and saw the shiver go down his spine. “And when Harry’s older, I’ll teach him transfiguration and how to turn himself into a proper-sized animal to help. What do you think, maybe an ostrich this time?”

Remus made a choking noise that Sirius thought was probably a strained laugh.

“I think an ostrich would be perfect. They’re big and fast, and they’ve got a wicked beak, and best of all they’re very subtle. We could all go running together in the country.” Sirius continued talking nonsense about his plans for Family Full Moon Nights until the healer witch came back with Remus’ things and discharge paperwork. She unlocked the manacle and chain, and offered to help Remus dress, which Remus calmly declined while Sirius glowered at her. She might have been the only healer to use the proper pronouns, but Sirius didn’t trust a single person on the ward.

Remus wiggled into his pants under the blanket before standing and, brushing off Sirius, slipping into his jeans, button-down, and sweater vest. The vest was a grey and lavender argyle and Sirius wondered if Remus’ chose his least-threatening outfits on purpose for days like this.

Sirius didn’t say anything as they left the hospital. He and Remus signed the discharge paperwork in silence and then took the elevator down to the car park. Sirius was worried that if he did speak he’d start yelling, and Remus looked too gaunt and sickly for that much excitement. When they got into the car, Remus leaned his head back against the passenger seat and closed his eyes once more, breathing out a long sigh. The marks on his face were already the pink lines of new skin.

“What was your plan for today?” Remus asked without looking at Sirius. “I told you, I don’t want Harry to see me like this.”

“He’s in Stratford until 4:00. I thought I’d take you home and feed you, and if you’re not feeling back to yourself by evening, Harry and I can just stay in my old room. But I don’t think Harry would notice. And even if he does… Well, we’ll tell him eventually, won’t we?”

“I was hoping “eventually” might not come up for a good eight or so years.”

Sirius tightened his hands on the steering wheel as he pulled out of the car park and onto the London roads, light on traffic this early in the morning. He bit his lip to keep himself from outright forbidding Remus from going back to St. Mungo’s. Remus looked too exhausted for the shouting match that kind of edict would probably elicit, and Sirius wanted to make sure that the argument stuck.

They drove in silence for awhile, until Remus, to Sirius’ surprise, asked him to put on some music. Sirius had always been the biggest fanboy of muggle music at school, and Remus, having a muggle mother, had introduced him to many of his favorite 1970s bands. He’d even snuck out of his house to meet Remus for a Pink Floyd concert in London the summer before fifth year. Remus’ taste was good, if not as fueled by the angst of teenage rebellion.

“Have you heard Phil Collins’ _Face Value_ yet? Came out last year.”

Remus shook his head, still tilted back on the headrest with his eyes closed, so Sirius summoned the cassette from the pile in his glove compartment (organization was not Sirius’ strong suit), and put it in to the Chevy’s tape player. _In The Air Tonight_ always seemed to take up so much space. They didn’t talk through it, but Remus reached out when the track ended and rewound the tape so they could listen to it again. That was one of the first things Sirius had liked about Remus, actually. Even when they were eleven and listening to The Beatles, they’d both understood that sometimes you needed to experience songs more than once in a row.

Number 12 seemed altogether too quiet without Harry. Sirius put Remus to bed, and tried to read one of his books out in the parlor, but his mind kept turning back to the imprint of the silver chain on Remus’ throat and the desire he felt to look up the unknown Helbert who worked on the fourth floor and challenge him to a duel. Instead, he sent an owl to Dumbledore, then padded back into Remus’ room.

Remus was still asleep with his arms wrapped around his pillow, snoring softly. Sirius changed into his dog form and curled up at the end of the bed, tucking his nose beneath his tail, and listened to the sound of his friend slowly healing. He didn’t move until the time came to pick up Harry.


	14. 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content Warning*: This chapter contains a vague depiction of past sexual abuse.

## March, 1982 - London and Thereabouts

The fight that followed a few weeks later was their first real one since Remus had moved in. It was indeed a shouting match, in the evening with _muffliato_ cast to keep their voices from waking Harry.

“McGonagall already told me she could watch him.”

“You talked to Minerva about this?!”

“For Merlin’s sake, it’s not like she doesn’t already know you’re a werewolf!”

Remus’ face went a spectacular flushed pink when he was angry and his hair stuck up all over his head from where he’d been pulling it in frustration. The fight went on for nearly half an hour.

“I’m not letting you do this.”

“It’s my life, Sirius.”

Sirius put his fist through the wall at the end. The plaster broke the skin around his knuckles and blood dripped down the back of his hand.

“I can’t live with hurting you,” Remus said finally, staring at the blood. Sirius knew he should heal it, stop it from dripping red all over the rug, but the pain felt good in a way. It felt familiar.

“And I can’t live with letting you go back there.”

Remus put his head in his hands, but when he lifted it he was smiling a tired smile. “So damn melodramatic,” he said, shaking his head.

“It’s your melodrama,” Sirius muttered, not ready to give up the argument yet.

In the end they both refused to budge, and Sirius sulked alone in his old bedroom that night, sleeping poorly. He’d refused to let Remus heal his hand and his own healing spells on anything smaller than a broken bone were mostly crude. He could do the kind of spells that would keep someone from dying, probably, but the fine detail of smaller healings had never been his specialty. James had had a rather impressive scar on his neck from a time Sirius had tried to heal a curse wound in the war. James insisted that it gave him character. Lily had joked that Sirius had let the scar remain on purpose, as a sort of permanent hicky. They had a running joke about Sirius having a crush on James, and most of the time Sirius was pretty sure Lily knew it was just a joke.

Despite all the cuddling, Sirius had never tried to kiss James or anything like that. For one thing, James was, as he described himself, “tragically straight”. For another, he and James had rules they’d come up with in third year about who they were allowed to date at Hogwarts. Snogging a Slytherin was out of bounds, of course, as was anyone they were both interested in.

“And no making out within The Marauders,” James had said. “We have to share a room for the next four years, and we’re not breaking up the group if anyone breaks up.”

“Given that you are basically my brother and that Peter is about as sexually appealing to me as a rat, you’re really just telling me not to snog Remy.” Sirius had “come out” such as it were to James at the beginning of the year. ( _He’d said “Listen, mate, it’s not a big deal or anything, but just so you know, I like blokes as well as girls.”_

 _James had rolled his eyes and said. “I know. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me for two years, nitwit.”_ )

“Remy’s too good for you, anyway,” James said. “But if you absolutely have to kiss him someday, just do us all a favor and don’t break his heart.”

Sirius had thought about it for a minute before nodding. “Alright,” he said. “But absolutely no Slytherins.”

“No Slytherins,” James agreed. They shook on it.

Sirius hadn’t meant to break the rules. He really hadn’t. Then in fourth year, he was sneaking back into school from one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade (they’d found two already), and Damocles Belby had caught him coming round the corner from the humpbacked statue, out after curfew and quite pissed on shots of a honeyapple liquor he had sweet-talked an older witch into buying for him.

Belby was Slytherin Head Boy and a beater for the quidditch team. Being in seventh year, Sirius hadn’t crossed paths with him outside the quidditch pitch on more than a handful of occasions and all he really knew about him was that Belby had a reputation for potions. Professor Slughorn would sometimes show his lower classes Belby’s work as an example of the perfection and brilliance to which they could aspire. Potions was one of the classes Sirius regularly napped through, so he’d never been terribly impressed by this.

“Black!” Belby had marched up to Sirius with his thick dark eyebrows drawn together, standing out dramatically against his pale white skin. His black hair was floppy and always seemed to be getting in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing? It’s nearly midnight. Get back to bed and fifty points from Gryffindor!”

“Ah, sod off, Belby,” Sirius had said, trying to lean nonchalantly against the wall. He was a little worried it came off as leaning against it for support. The world was just a bit spinny.

Those ridiculous eyebrows had shot straight up, and Sirius remembered thinking that they were like fuzzy caterpillars hopping on his brow.

“Black, are you drunk?” Belby didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked impressed. “Blimey, how did you even sneak alcohol into the castle? I’ve had to make my own mead for years.”

“Pfft,” Sirius was pretty sure he had said with a fair amount of spit. “‘M not drunk.”

“Come on, come in here.” Belby had taken him by the arm and steered him into an empty classroom. Sirius thought Belby was going to lecture him, but the Slytherin boy just sat down on one of the desks facing him. “You got any left on you?” He’d asked.

Sirius shook his head, which made the spinny bits worse. It wasn’t his first time being drunk, but it was still a fairly new sensation and he wasn’t used to navigating the world in that state.

“Pity,” Belby said, giving him an easy grin. “I might have given points back to Gryffindor for a swig.” 

He had nice teeth, Sirius had thought. Impressively white teeth, like maybe he used a brightening charm on them. And his lips were such a light pink, pale rose in the dim torchlight.

Belby caught his eye when Sirius tore his gaze away from his mouth, letting him know with that look that he’d seen what Sirius was staring at. He licked his lips, just barely, and Sirius felt his face getting warmer than even the alcohol had made it.

He didn’t really remember the sequence of events after that. He remembered kissing that mouth, and those eyebrows, and Belby’s hands on his waist. He remembered Belby’s breathless voice saying “Holy ghosts, Black, you are so pretty” as he reached under his robes. He’d said it again, sometime in the middle of everything. “ _You’re so pretty._ ”

Sirius didn’t remember saying anything back. He wasn’t sure he’d said anything at all during. He remembered laughing after when they were leaving the classroom and Belby had stopped to kiss his neck and whisper “Fifty points back to Gryffindor, then.”

Sirius had snuck back to Gryffindor tower and fallen asleep instantly. It wasn’t until the next day that he even remembered the rules and that he couldn’t tell James about what he’d done. And Sirius had wanted to do it, in the moment, but in the pounding hangover of morning, he’d thought about Belby being a Slytherin, about how he’d probably told the rest of the Slytherins (and, god, he’d probably told _Snivellus_ ), about how Sirius hadn’t known what he was doing because Belby had been his first. He’d probably gone back to the slimey Slytherin dungeons and laughed about it in their common room (and, oh god, that meant _Regulus_ would hear about it).

He’d been drunk, Sirius told himself, all throughout that next day. It hadn’t meant anything. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let it mean anything.

  


Remus’ birthday fell on the day after the full moon in March. He and Sirius reached a compromise of sorts that, true to form, neither of them was content with. Remus agreed to spend the night before and after full moons at home, staying at St. Mungo’s only during the actual change. Sirius agreed in turn to make sure Harry didn’t see him on the mornings-after until he had visibly healed.

“I still don’t like it,” Siriu grumbled as Remus kissed Harry goodbye on his way out, the day before his birthday.

“You don’t have to like it,” Remus said. “You just have to live with it.”

Since he still refused to let Sirius bring Harry to come pick him up, Remus had found a ride home with Arthur Weasley - Gideon and Fabian Prewett’s brother-in-law who had shown up at a handful of Order meetings, but who had seven children under the age of nine and was therefore too busy to be a fully-fledged member. He worked at the Ministry and was one of the few wizards they knew with his own car. Most wizards preferred to aparate or take brooms, not trusting to the invention of muggles.

Arthur was tall and jovial, with bright ginger hair that had already begun to recede from his wide forehead. Remus hadn’t actually given Arthur their address (they were still keeping the secret of Grimmauld Place to a minimum number of people), so Sirius watched Remus getting out of the red Ford Anglia across the street from the front windows. Arthur waved from the front seat and took off, his engine spurting out just a hint of what looked suspiciously like floo powder.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asked immediately when Remus opened the door. He was pale and tired, with shadows like bruises under his eyes. There was one long pink line from his ear down his neck and beneath his shirt, but no other marks were visible.

“I’m fine, Sirius.” Remus closed the door behind him and hung his coat up on the rack. “Just tired. Where’s Harry?”

“I put him down for his nap ten minutes ago in the parlor.” Sirius took Remus by shoulders and looked him over. He looked his usual amount of post-moon battered, but he wasn’t shaking. At least not much.

“I’m alright,” Remus said, pushing Sirius away. “Seriously, Sirius.”

“Moony?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy birthday.”

Remus went upstairs to take a shower and nap. Sirius would have liked to lay down with him, just for his own peace of mind that Remus was okay, that he was still whole and here. Instead he answered the sounds of Harry waking.

With a minimal amount of help from Kreacher (and more spilled flour than was probably necessary), Sirius managed to put together strawberry shortbread. He even let Harry help stir, holding the large spoon and teaching him the motions. It was Remus’ favorite, and he brought it up to him late in the afternoon, peaking in first to check on his healing.

Remus was awake, looking up at the ceiling with something haunted in his eyes. It disappeared when he saw them and Harry toddled over to pull on his sleeve. Remus swept him up onto the bed and Sirius delivered the plate of dessert with a bow.

“This is my favorite lunch,” Remus said, smiling. “Strawberries and whipped cream.”

“Don’t try to pull some sort of health food card on me. I remember a boy who lived off of HoneyDuke’s quadruple-chocolate-fudge for nearly an entire month.”

“Well I remember a boy who used to eat his cranberry scones with cheese, like an absolute monster.”

“It wasn’t munster,” Sirius said loftily, sitting on the bed with his legs over Remus’ and holding the plate between them. “It was wensleydale.”

Remus groaned. “I hate you.”

“You love me.” Sirius swiped a finger in the whipped cream and dotted Remus’ nose with it. “Birthday boy.”

Harry made friends with a muggle girl a few months older than him on the playground one day near the end of March, and her mother invited Sirius (out without Remus this time) to join them at a Baby & Me storytime later that week. Partly out of curiosity, and partly out of a sense of obligation to Lily’s muggle roots, Sirius took Harry to the public library for the meeting.

There were little paper cups of orange juice and celery sticks with cream cheese, toddler-sized chairs and bean bags, and a half-stage on which an older woman in a blue star-spangled pointed hat sat with a stack of picture books. Sirius wished at once that he’d made Remus come with them, if for no other reason than because the hat was so gaudy and unreasonable and he immediately wanted to steal it for Dumbledore.

He was also aware of being the only male caregiver in the room. That might have bothered him once, but now he thought it was funny, and he settled down with Harry in his lap to listen to the woman on stage read a book called _Peepo!_

The pictures in muggle children’s books didn’t move, of course, but the woman had an animated voice and she managed to keep most of the kids engaged without doing more than making silly faces. She read a number of stories, including one about a wizard who used his magic to grow rutabagas in his garden. Sirius had a difficult time keeping his straight face during that one.

After storytime ended, the woman who had invited him brought her little girl over. The child squealed when she saw Harry, and they were off, chasing each other around the room. The mother, who Sirius thought was probably named Beth, watched them with a soft smile on her face.

“My Eliza doesn’t take after just anyone. I’m so glad you came today. I found it so helpful just to get out and meet other parents, don’t you?”

“Uh, I suppose so,” Sirius said. His wand was zipped up in his leather jacket again and he wondered if this woman had any inkling at all that there was a world beyond the mundane. He wondered what it was like only to be worried about car accidents and kidnappers who could only use their fists. “Can’t say I’ve been doing much of this sort of thing.”

“Well, I hope we don’t frighten you off! It’s nice to see a father taking the kid out for a change. Does your wife work?”

“Uh, well, I haven’t got one of those, I’m afraid.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, only I’ve seen you at the park with Harry quite often. Is his mother around?”

“She’s… no longer with us.” Sirius hadn’t told Remus this, but sometimes his nightmares were about Lily’s pale, lifeless face.

Beth’s eyes went wide. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry. I’ve really put my foot in it, haven’t I? It’s wonderfully brave of you, raising a child on your own.”

“Um.” Sirius considered how much of his life story to unburden on her, and decided the correct amount was none of it. “Thank you.”

One night, after Remus had turned out the light, and the three of them were laying there in the dark, Remus said into the silence “I’m not James, you know.”

Sirius and Harry were laying rather closer to Remus’ side of the bed than usual, since Harry had rolled that way in his sleep and Sirius had followed. His arm was draped most of the way across Remus’ waist and he had been feeling warm and sleepy, being able to feel both of them breathing.

Sirius didn’t move at Remus’ words. He could make out the shape of him in the dark, laying on his back, one hand behind his head, the other resting on Harry.

“I know that.”

“I know what James was to you. And I can’t be that. You’re my best friend. Maybe my only friend. But I don’t want… I don’t want to feel like you’re trying to replace him. I can’t live up to that.”

Sirius let his words sink in. It felt like the kind of admission that could only be made in hours like this one, when darkness and tiredness let deeper things float to the surface.

“Is this because I tried to get you to play quidditch the other day?”

Remus sighed. “No, it’s because your arm is around my waist.”

“My arm’s been around your waist plenty of times.” This was true, although at school, Sirius had mostly cuddled James one-on-one and the others in what James called “pack puddles”.

“Look, it’s just… the two of you had something brilliant. And mostly, I wasn’t jealous, because it was clear that you were some kind of brothers. And because you never left Peter and me out on purpose. We were all best friends and that was so much more than I had ever hoped for. It’s just that… whatever hole James left, I can’t fill it. You and me…” Remus paused, and Sirius felt his insides constrict painfully at the weight of that silence. “I don’t want to feel like you’re holding me as a replacement.”

Sirius didn’t dare move an inch, he was so conscious of all the spaces that were and were not between them. “I’m not going to say it’s not a little bit about James,” Sirius said slowly. He could feel Remus tense under his arm. “A bit of it is because you’re right, I lost my brother. But it’s not about replacing him. It’s because _I lost him_. And because you lost him with me. You’ve gone through something with me that James never will.” It was Sirius’ turn to let his words hang on a pregnant pause. “Do you want me to move my arm?”

Remus was quiet for so long that Sirius was about to pull back when he finally turned over on his side, facing him. Harry was snuggled between them, his soft breathing undisturbed by their whispered conversation. It was too dark to see Remus’ face, but Sirius could feel his warm breath pass across his skin. Remus reached out and patted him on the head.

“Alright then, you ridiculous mutt.”


	15. 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content Warning*: Some mild body horror/violence

## May, 1982 - London and Thereabouts

Time passed. Harry was wonderful, the best thing about Sirius’ life, and he was also a lot of work. Sirius thought, somewhere deep down in crevices he didn't dwell in, that if he hadn't had Harry to keep him busy, he would have gone ballistic with grief months ago.

There was still no sign of Peter. They had told everything to Dumbledore, of course. Not that first night, but after they'd had a chance to talk about it. Remus had confessed everything about the Marauders on one of his meetings with the headmaster, which Sirius knew must have killed him inside. Remus felt he owed everything to Dumbledore, and he'd always harbored some measure of guilt about allowing Sirius, James, and Peter to become a part of his monthly changes. He had tried desperately to hide his lycanthropy from them, inventing all sorts of stories to keep them in the dark. He'd mostly taken to saying his mother was ill near the end.

Finally, in third year, James went down to the kitchens and sweet-talked the house-elves into letting him bake a chocolate-fudge cake that he then brought up to the dormitory and decorated with swirling icing letters. It said “We Know You're a Werewolf and We Think It's Cool.” In the corner, he drew a little full moon and some stars. He, with Sirius and Peter, decorated their room with floating lights and a giant red and gold banner with a wolf in a lion's costume running across it.

When Remus came back from the Shrieking Shack, as battered and sickly as ever, his three roommates were waiting for him with party hats on.

With the spring, the weather changed from cold rain to tepid rain, and Sirius and Remus took Harry out on increasingly longer hikes. Sirius went out with a group of the Baby & Me moms a few times. He found he was more comfortable taking Harry out in the muggle world. Sometimes wizards passing through would recognize them, but the muggle mothers treated Sirius like he was just a parent and Harry like he was just a baby. Remus agreed this was probably good for Harry. The moms had a whole plethora of Baby & Me activities, not just story time. There was yoga (and oh, how James would have laughed to see a bunch of thirty-year-old white ladies appropriating _yoga_ ), and swimming, and the muggle zoo, and endless rotations of teas. The moms sometimes treated Sirius like he was more clueless than he was, telling him how to best shush Harry, grilling him on what they were eating, insisting that Harry shouldn't run everywhere barefoot all the time. Sirius bore it politely. He was the only father in the group, and he didn't really mind having a bunch of kind muggle mothers fawn over him and Harry, even if they were sometimes a tad condescending.

Harry loved those outings. He blossomed around other children, especially those a year or two older than him. He'd toddle along behind them, imitating their games and their words. Harry's magic seemed to be in making everyone fall into instant adoration of him. The other kids (who ranged in age from a few months to about 5) accepted him at once and the moms were always cooing over him and trying to comb his hair.

Sirius tried to get Remus to come along, but Remus was looking for a job in earnest now. And, as he put it “How would we explain the situation to them? They think you're a brave single parent right now. Even if we tell them I'm his uncle, they're going to think it's weird. People always look at us funny when we're out of with him.”

Sirius thought about it for a minute. “We could just say we're together. Lean into the gay couple thing. It's London, I think they'd be okay.”

Remus turned a light pink. “Let's not draw unnecessary attention to ourselves,” he said, before mumbling something about an owl and leaving the room.

Sirius felt a little guilty for the suggestion, even if they both knew that people would assume they were a couple before they'd ever think they were brothers or even brothers-in-law. Remus always turned a brilliant rose color at _the look_ from older muggles at the grocery store; the look that said both “what a couple of poofters” and “what’s this white boy doing with a brown child”. No one had said as much to their faces - at least not to Sirius’ face - which was fortunate, because Sirius was not sure he had the self-restraint to keep from hexing them if they did. Sirius had tried to joke about it a few times, but Remus always blushed all the way up to his ears and changed the subject.

Sirius had, actually, had a pretty good inkling that Remus used to have a crush on him. For one thing, Sirius was not modest enough not to realize that pretty much all of his yearmates at Hogwarts who swung that way had fancied him or James (or both of them). They’d been wildly popular; part of the best quidditch team Gryffindor had seen in years, talented wizards, and fit to boot. If anything, their propensity for mischief, which might have landed them in trouble for lost House points, only made them seem cool.

Sirius, of course, had been a loose cannon since at least fourth year. James had only ever had eyes for Lily, who had remained stubbornly immune to his charm until sixth year, when, admittedly, they’d all done a lot of growing up. Even Peter, perhaps coated in some of their secondhand glory, had started going steady with a girl from Hufflepuff in sixth year. That had been exceedingly awkward to watch. Remus, though, who was adorable in an offhand sort of way with his tousled grey and brown hair, his big blue eyes, and his lattice-work of scars, had never so much as looked at anyone outside their group as far as Sirius knew.

In sixth year, when the others started going out, Remus and Sirius had sometimes gone on group dates with them, or “double-dates” with James and Lily because Peter always had even more make-up work to do than the rest of them. They hadn’t been going out together, exactly, but the situation did lead to them spending a lot of time together and teaming up in things like snowball fights or games of gnome-dash. They’d made a joke of it sometimes, following James and Lily on walks around the lake, holding hands, mocking their friends (and Lily was their friend too by that point) for being in love. Sirius had thought it was a joke, anyway. It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered asking Moony out in those days - or, more likely, just grabbing him by the collar and snogging his daylights out - but there were the rules. There was the fact that James had been right, and Remus really was too good for him. There was the fact that Sirius wanted to be the sort of person who was unphased by Remus’ secrets - but he hadn’t been that person, not at sixteen anyway.

And then the war began in earnest. It had been going on for years, really, but the wave of blood purism piqued when Sirius was in his seventh year. Suddenly, students were disappearing. Some of them because they were muggleborns being taken, some of them because they were leaving to join the Death Eaters. Regulus had been one of the latter. He’d been fifteen, and he and Sirius hadn’t exchanged a word since Sirius had gone to live with the Potters the year before. Dumbledore had pulled Sirius into his office to question him about Regulus’ disappearance, and Sirius had had to get very, very drunk that night.

Peter’s girlfriend, who’d broken up with him over the summer, was one of the muggleborns who vanished. The Ministry found her months later in Wales, a sack of skin and bones where all her blood had been drained out of her.

Lily and James had stayed together, but Sirius was on edge all of the time and if there had been a time when he might have asked Remus to go out with him, that moment had passed. They still held hands sometimes, but Remus never said anything and Sirius couldn’t bring himself to move past that.

The other thing that had given Sirius the impression that Remus might, perhaps, have fancied him, was the incident on the Lestrange’s estate the previous spring.

It was one of the most brutal battles Sirius fought in and he didn’t think he’d ever forget it. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had formed one half of a group from the Order on what was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. They hadn’t truly thought that the Death Eaters would be so obvious as to use one of their most prominent member’s estate for headquarters, but they had thought it would be worth looking around the Lestrange’s manor house for any possible clues to where the headquarters might be. The Lestrange estate had once been a Black family estate before Bellatrix had married, and Sirius had known the way around most of the old-spells in place, having spent several miserable holidays there as a child.

There was a copse of tall trees on one side of the house that grew part of the way up a hill and then petered out so that there was bald spot of grassy incline that jutted out in view of the manor. They’d come around from the other side, through the dead gardens at the front of house. By the time they had seen the horde coming out from the trees and down the hill, it had been too late.

James had sworn and yelled “ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ ” and a giant silver stag had burst from his wand tip, galloping across the open ground in front of the estate for the other side where Lily, Hestia Jones, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, and Alastor Moody were waiting for their signal. As soon as the patronus was on its way, James was off, running toward the hill with his wand out and his jet black curls blown back across his forehead.

Sirius had taken off after him, half a second behind as he yelled “Wait for the others” to Remus and Peter.

The group on the hill, coming fast toward them, was an assortment of Death Eaters and dark creatures. Sirius counted ten or more Death Eater masks glinting beneath black hoods, spilling out from under the trees, two dementors, and a huge cluster of Inferi before he stopped counting and focused on catching up to James because he’d seen the bloody great giant lumbering at the back of the group.

James veered right before they came too close to the oncoming group, dashing up the grassy incline. When they had both reached the top of the slight rise, they stood back to back, panting, wands raised. The height wasn’t enough to give them a full advantage on the giant, but it did bring them up almost level to his shoulder.

“A blasted giant,” Sirius muttered. They had just a moment to breathe as bodies kept pouring out of the trees. Below them, Remus and Peter were standing shoulder to shoulder, wand arms raised. “Which do you want?”

James wiped the sweat off his forehead, looking at the approaching enemy and doing a quick calculation. “I’ll take the giant,” he said. “You take whatever comes at my back.”

And so they’d fought. Seeing the two of them up on the hill, most of the Inferi had changed course and come up after them. This was fortunate, as far as Sirius was concerned, because Inferi did not run. He had plenty of time to ready his spells, and blast a few of them out of their path as they slunk along up the hill. He saw the dementors gliding out ahead of the group and Remus’ patronus exploding from his wand in a flash of silver light, the gigantic spectral wolf leaping in front of both him and Peter, who had never mastered that spell. He saw Peter shoot stinging spells into the oncoming Death Eaters, making one stumble. Then a second group was running into the middle ground in front of the manor, Lily’s red hair bright in the morning sun, Gideon and Fabian’s ginger heads behind her, Hestia on their tails with her dreadlocks pinned up for once, Moody jogging along behind them all, already shooting red light into the Death Eaters over the Order’s heads.

And then Sirius was too busy keeping himself and James alive to see what happened to the others. James was screaming a string of spells, hurling them one after another up into the giant’s face, who was kept rubbing his fists across his face as if the curses were doing no more than poking him. He kept swiping at James, who ducked and tumbled with the agility born of his quidditch days, and Sirius followed him loosely by sound alone, trying to stay at his back. The Inferi were swarming him by then. He cast _incendio_ over and over, burning the Inferius two or three at a time, blackening the grass in a wide swath in front of him.

He didn’t know how long they had been at it before he heard the giant scream behind him - James had hit him in the eye with a _reducto_ curse and great gobs of blood and gore were spilling down his face and splattering over everything like a thick, disgusting red rain.

“Nice one, James,” Sirius called before he nearly slipped in a puddle of blood and busted retina. An Inferius wrapped its cold dead hand around his wrist. Another nearly snuck past him as he tried to wrench free, but he managed to blast it back just in time. Sirius held his wand aloft and screamed out the words to a spell he never thought he’d use in his life.

Fiendfyre spilled from his wand. There were shapes in the fire, shapes with hands and wings and teeth. Fiery fingers wrapped lovingly around the Inferi, embracing them, coddling them, kissing their skin. They shrieked and burned and went up in flames. The shapes drifted across the already blackened grass, scorching the earth like a biblical plague. They licked down the side of the hill, running wild across the grass.

“Sirius!” James yelled, his voice desperate.

Sirius was only just in control of the direction the fiendfyre was headed in, and his grasp on that was slipping as more and more of the stuff poured from his wand in long, twining, horrible bodies.

“Duck!” He roared with what was left of his voice, unsure if James could even hear him over the roaring of the fire. James threw himself on the ground without hesitation, hitting the grass with a soft thud, and Sirius concentrated every last part of his energy and willpower into spinning his wand, arching the fiendfyre up over their heads and out in the direction of the trees.

There was plenty of life to burn in that direction, and so the fire went. It caught the giant on its way, half-blind and mad with pain as he was. A gigantic talon hooked into the giant’s chest, his skin bubbling and burning. The whole world smelled like burning flesh around them.

Sirius cut off the spell from his wand, releasing the fiendfyre into the world without any further control over it. It swept away into the trees which began to blaze like towering torches.

“You’re a bloody madman, Padfoot,” James said as he scrambled to his feet, grasping Sirius on the shoulder. There wasn’t time for any more discussion as two Death Eaters crested the incline. Their masks had gone missing and the wizard’s robes were torn, but the witch was grinning with a manic light in her dark eyes. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange had come to meet them.

James and Sirius stood back to back again, James dueling Rodolphus, Sirius dueling Bellatrix. His cousin laughed her high, wild laugh whenever she blocked or dodged his spells. Her thick black hair was free from her hood and it cascaded around her face in heavy dark curls.

“Well aren’t you all grown up, cuz,” she taunted him between exchanges. “I never would have thought you had the backbone to use a curse like fiendfyre. If she hadn’t already disowned you, I think even Auntie Walberga might be impressed.”

“Why thank you, cousin. I hope you like what it does to your house.”

Indeed, the fiendfyre was already dancing across the roof of the manor and ominous snapping sounds were coming from what might have been the eaves.

Bellatrix only laughed and sent another curse at him. Sirius waved it aside almost lazily.

Below them, the sounds of fighting had waned beneath the roar and crackle of the fire. Sirius didn’t dare look at what was happening. He hoped they were winning. He hoped his fiendfyre stayed in the direction he’d sent it long enough for them to finish up with the Death Eaters and figure out how the hell to get rid of it.

Behind him, Rodolphus cried out and Bellatrix’s smiled faded, her face turning hard. She looked a lot like Sirius’ mother when she turned furious.

Someone on the lowground screamed. Bellatrix made a sudden movement, clutching at her arm as if something had stung her, and before Sirius knew what was happening she had raised her wand and screamed, aiming the spell not at him but down at the ground below. In almost the same breath, she threw herself down the hill in the opposite direction of her spell. Rodolphus leapt clear of James’ hex, following his wife. They grabbed hands and disapparated with a loud crack.

Sirius might have been able to catch them before they disappeared. He’d replay that moment over and over again in his head for days to come. But he’d seen what Bellatrix had sent out toward the grounds in front of the manor and he was already running, hurtling down the incline as fast as he could without falling over his own legs. James was a step behind them, and then they were insync, their feet pounding in one rhythm.

On the ground below, where they had left them, Remus and Peter were standing back-to-back just as James and Sirius had been. The dementors were back, floating in circles around them and Remus’ face was drawn in concentration as he kept his patronus circling them while still casting spells at a great bloody troll. Peter was still using the stinging spell on a Death Eater, who looked up, saw what was coming, and disapparated.

Sirius and James made it, but only barely. Without speaking about it, because they didn’t need to confer with words to know what the other was thinking half the time anyway, James tackled Peter and Sirius flung himself on top of Remus.

Sirius hit Remus just as the cloud of thick, green pus that Bellatrix had managed to summon swept over them. He heard the troll cry out as the bubotuber pus connected with its body, heard the sizzling sound of the pus burning skin, but he was busy gripping Remus in his arms and rolling. The momentum of his impact carried them a number of feet across the grass and Sirius stayed on top of Remus, his arm thrown up to shield his own face, braced for stinging shock of pus. When it didn’t come, Sirius raised his head cautiously.

Lily was standing there with her wand raised, siphoning the great green cloud away from them all, sending it toward the manor as Sirius had done with the flames. Sirius spared a moment to bless Lily in his head for her calm and her cleverness. The massive cloud of pus settled over the fiendfyre dancing on the roof of the house, dampening it instantly, the sizzling of the pus and the crackling of the fire canceling each other out.

Sirius didn’t have more than a moment to spare on thanking the gods for Lily Evans-Potter, however, because he was already scrambling off of Remus and running back to where James was swearing like a gnome.

“Blasted bloody boiling hags!” James was yelling when Sirius reached him and dropped to his knees at once. James’ right leg was bare up to the top his thigh where the pus had simply burned his jeans away. His whole leg was covered in it, the green substance turning yellow on contact with his skin, thick and slimy, eating away at his flesh. The smell was overwhelmingly noxious and Sirius gagged as he bent over his friend’s leg.

Peter was about a foot away where James had knocked him mostly clear of danger. A few drops of the pus had landed on his arm and he was whimpering loudly, but Sirius ignored him. James’ flesh was still sizzling, and Sirius knew from Herbology class that bubotuber pus could eat right through to the bone if it wasn’t stopped.

Lily was there in a moment, pushing Sirius aside, muttering spells over her husband, siphoning the pus off and sending it all back towards the house. Underneath, James’ whole leg was raw and oozing. Sirius stood up quickly, looking away before he could hurl at the sight.

Hestia Jones had run up and was tending to Peter’s arm (Peter was crying outright), and Moody was putting out the leftover fire in the woods. The minute James’ leg was stable (having coated it hastily in a white paste of some kind), Lily jumped back up and ran to help Moody. The fiendfyre had been dampened by the bubotuber pus, but the trees were still blazing where they had been set alight.

Sirius felt as if he’d been drained of every last ounce of magic. He hadn’t realized it in the heat and adrenaline of battle, but he was a bone-deep kind of exhausted. He contemplated fainting then and there, but thought that might be too dramatic, even for him.

Remus ran up to him, grass in his hair, the troll twitching in its death throws behind him as the pus seeped through its body.

“You beautiful, bloody idiot!” Remus yelled, grabbing Sirius around the neck. He seemed equal parts furious and the kind of terrified that never fully softens into relief. Before Sirius knew what was happening, both of Remus’ arms were flung around his neck and he kissed him full on the mouth.

Sirius grabbed Remus by the waist as he flung himself into Sirius, more out of reflex to keep them both from falling over than anything else. One of his hands wrapped around the small of his back, his other gripped Remus at one bony hip, his nails digging into the skin there where Remus’ shirt rucked up.

Remus’ mouth had been so, so warm where it pressed hard into Sirius’, his hands clenching into fists at the back of Sirius’ neck. Sirius had closed his eyes out of habit, but he’d been too surprised to really kiss Remus back before Remus had pulled away. He shoved Sirius in the chest with both hands, his face redder than Sirius had ever seen it. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ do something that stupid again!” he’d yelled. And then he’d stomped off before Sirius could think of a single thing to say, going to join Lily and Moody in their efforts to put out the fire.

When Sirius glanced at James, he was tactfully staring in the opposite direction, pretending not to have noticed a thing.

Gideon and Fabian Prewitt’s bodies lay surrounded by five dead Death Eaters. Moody had killed another two, Lily and Hestia another three between them. Moody had volunteered to go inform the Prewitt family and Hestia went with him, crying silently. She’d been in love with Fabian. Everyone knew it, except perhaps Fabian himself.

Lily, glorious in her towering temper, apparated James and Peter back to the Order’s headquarters. Sirius tried to say he was fine to do it himself, but he could barely get the words out in order and Remus had taken him roughly by the arm and pulled him through the squeezing blackness of space.

Sirius must have past out during the trip, because he woke up on a camp-bed in the makeshift hospital wing of headquarters with no memory of having gotten there. He wrapped one of the blankets around him like a cloak and went to sit in the folding chair next to James’ bed. James was awake, clearly still in pain, reading a pamphlet on skin regrowth.

“It says here it could take up to two weeks before the skin is fully healed again,” James said when Sirius sat down. “And turns out, you can die from contact with too much bubotuber pus. Who knew.”

“We knew that. We learned that in fourth year,” Sirius said. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on James’ uninjured leg. He still felt tired and drained, and like maybe he needed to curl up in bed with James for a few hours to reassure himself that his friend wasn’t going to dissolve into pus and goo.

“Is that what we learned in fourth year? I mostly remember the hoof incident.”

“That was barely a bump in the road.”

“Speaking of…”

“No.”

“About that kiss…”

“ _No._ Stop talking.”

“Are you thinking about going there?”

Sirius looked up at James without raising his head. James actually looked serious for once.

“I think your wound is festering,” Sirius said, turning his face back into his friend’s thigh.

“It’s not. Are you going to talk to Moony about it?”

“I’m not even talking to you about it.”

“Sirius.”

“He was just… overexcited. It didn’t mean anything.”

“C’mon.” James pushed at Sirius’ head with his hand. “I’ve had to watch the two of you moon over each other for the last, like, seven years. I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

“We have not been _mooning_ over each other.” James still smelled enough like the pus and burning flesh that Sirius had to lift his head again. He sat back in the chair, bundling his blanket around himself. “Besides, it’s against the rules.”

“Oh for Godric’s sake, no one cares about the rules.” James rolled his eyes. “We’re not in school anymore. We’re not _thirteen_ anymore. We might all literally die at any moment. So are you thinking about going there?”

“I’m thinking about poking you in the leg if you don’t shut up about it,” Sirius said. That probably wouldn’t have been enough to shut James up, but Edgar Bones had come in then to change the dressing on James’ leg, and James had enough tact not to talk about Sirius’ love life in front of Bones.

Remus had never brought up that kiss or tried to repeat it, and Sirius took his cue from him. He figured it was the heat of battle, the aftereffects of too much adrenaline. They certainly never talked about it. Sirius only ever thought about it whenever he realized his jokes about them being partners were making Remus flush.

Near the end of May, Sirius was driving back from the grocery store when he heard a newly released song on the muggle radio (he liked to listen to the muggle radio stations in the car sometimes. It was how he found new music). He made a detour all the way out to the local music shop and bought the cassette so he could bring it home and make Remus listen to it.

Remus, who was at Grimmauld Place keeping Harry entertained with a magic display of dancing pictures, looked up from the floor and saw the look on Sirius’ face.

“Oh no,” he said. “I know that look. What have you done?”

Sirius was grinning. “Nothing!” he said, going over to the cassette player and replacing _The Dark Side of the Moon_ with his new purchase. “I just heard a song I need you to listen to. It’s brilliant.”

“That is not your “I’ve heard a brilliant song I want to share with my mate” face,” Remus said, putting his wand away and getting up. Harry looked between them, smiling his contented smile. “That is your “I’ve found something to torture my roommate with” face.”

“Come on, Moony, have some faith,” Sirius said, and pressed play.

 _Africa_ by Toto flooded the room.


	16. 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content Warning*: Past suicide attempt, discussion of PTSD symptoms, and abuse

## June, 1982 - London and Thereabouts

Harry was throwing one of his infrequent temper tantrums. He had another tooth coming in and Sirius had been up every few hours rocking him and crooning Johnny Cash to him in a low voice. Harry, much like Sirius, was a lot crankier and fragile on days when he hadn't slept.

Big dollops of tears spilled down his cheeks and the lightning bolt scar on his forehead seemed redder in his scrunched up face as he wailed and pushed at Remus’ arms. Harry loved Remus, would sometimes climb right over Sirius to sit in Remus’ lap instead, wanted kisses from both of them before he would settle down for bed, and normally was happy to be distracted by Remus reading him picture books. But he didn't like Sirius leaving the house without him (Sirius didn't like it much either, truth be told), and while normally this didn't elicit more than a piteous glance if Sirius got ready to go out without him, today he was howling as Sirius put on his boots.

Remus and Harry were still in bed, Remus’ arms wrapped around the crying infant as he tried to placate him.

“Wan go!” Harry wailed, his round cheeks streaked with tears. “Wan go!”

“I know, love,” Remus was saying calmly, stroking Harry's curls back and bouncing him a bit on one knee. “But you and I will have a nice breakfast and Sirius will be back before you know it.”

Sirius’ heart was breaking as he shucked on his old, beat up leather jacket. It broke every time Harry cried in earnest, especially if it was over something he, Sirius, could fix. But Remus had told him, gently but firmly, that if he gave in to everything anytime Harry cried, he'd raise an absolute terror. He'd had to concede Remus was probably right, so he was trying.

“Listen to Moony, Harry. You be a good boy and I'll be back in a jiffy.”

Sirius was heading out to meet Mundungus Fletcher at the Leaky Cauldron to unload some of the less dangerous articles that had been collecting dust at Number 12 for years. He'd made quite a profit on dark magical objects in Knockturn Alley and they hadn't even finished decluttering the second floor. They had the whole third floor left to go yet and a few locked cabinets and the like they hadn't managed to get open. There were still a number of things that weren't quite dark enough for Knockturn Alley, but were still suspicious to have on hand, especially in the aftermath of Voldemort. The wizarding world was getting back to its feet, and anyone trying to unload, say, several pounds worth of ingredients generally used to concoct highly elicit and unpleasant potions, might come under scrutiny.

Mundungus was the perfect person to dispose of that sort of thing, but even Sirius had to admit that Dung wasn't the sort of fellow he felt comfortable bringing a baby to meet with.

“ _No_ ,” Harry wailed, reaching his arms out for Sirius. “Wan go, daddy!”

Sirius froze. His entire body tensed from his shoulders to his hands. He felt like a disillusionment charm had been cast over him as a trickling cold sensation fell down his spine.

The Baby & Me mothers had been referring to him as Harry’s father ( _“Go ask you father to lift you up to see the snakes, Harry.” “What an adorable boy! You’re going to look just like your daddy.”_ ), of course, but it was the first time Harry had ever called him that. He glanced at Remus, whose face had fallen. Harry, taking opportunity of the adults’ surprise, wiggled free of Remus and slid off the bed, running over to wrap both arms around one of Sirius’ legs.

“Harry wan go, daddy!” he sniffled into Sirius’ leg, and everything inside Sirius melted. He sat down on the floor and pulled Harry into his chest, burying his face in his godson’s curls, holding back the urge to cry himself.

He remembered Harry saying “dada” for the first time, James’ entire face lighting up at the sound as he swung Harry up in the air. It had been his first word, although Lily had insisted that “dada” didn’t count because it was just a noise and she was holding out for him to say “mummy” first. And then “dada” had become “daddy” anytime Harry wanted James, and “mummy” followed just a few days behind, something in Harry’s linguistic abilities kicking into place.

“Foot” had been his fourth word, after “broo” for broom, and then “Moon-Moon” for Remus. Sirius had never really thought about Harry calling him anything but James’ nickname for him. Well, alright, he had thought about it, but he’d tried not to think about it. It was like what he’d said to Remus that day under the tree in the rainstorm, he felt guilty for thinking about Harry as his son and just as guilty for thinking about him as anything less. Thinking about it had meant, in some horrible way that Sirius had not been prepared to process, wanting it.

Anytime he’d gotten that far in wondering what Harry was going to call him as he got older (Uncle Foot, perhaps), he’d remembered every time Harry had called “daddy!” and James had smiled so wide and brilliant with love. He wasn’t James. He couldn’t be James. And so he couldn’t be Harry’s father.

“Sirius,” Remus said, sliding his legs off the bed and sitting there with his bare feet on the cold floor. His voice was gentle.

“I just…” Sirius spoke into Harry’s hair, feeling the infant still trembling against his chest. “I know, okay, I shouldn’t encourage him, but, just…”

“Ah, Sirius.” The bed creaked as Remus got up, coming over, running his fingers through Sirius’ hair. Sirius closed his eyes. “It’s alright. You’re allowed.”

Sirius swallowed hard, not daring to open his eyes with the way they were stinging. “No, we can’t just pretend… We’re supposed to tell Harry the truth. I don’t want to lie to him.”

“You’re not lying to him.”

“But letting him think that I’m…”

“He’s not even two, Sirius. You can’t explain to a two-year-old what happened to Lily and James.” Remus was still stroking his hair. “We should have talked about this before. If you really don’t want him to call you his dad, then we can try to get him to use “uncle” or something, but you’re his godfather, Sirius. You _are_ his parent. We both are.”

Sirius took a deep, shuddering breath and raised his face from Harry’s hair. The movement caused Remus’ fingers to slide down his temple and cheek and Sirius leaned his face into his hand.

“What’s he going to call you, then?” he asked quietly. “Papi?”

Remus gave a forced little laugh. “I think I’ll stick with Moony, thanks.”

The sun was starting to come out upon occasion. Harry’s birthday was coming ever closer, looming like an omen on the horizon. Sirius tried not to think about it. He wanted to give Harry a party, wanted Harry to love his birthdays the way that he wanted him to love Christmas, even if the thought of Harry having a birthday without James and Lily tore him up. And after his birthday, Halloween would be too close, and it would be a year without them. Even just thinking about it, Sirius was pretty sure he was going to spiral.

He was spiraling a bit now. June had always been a difficult time of year for him. It had meant the end of the school term and that he’d be stuck back on a train to his parents’ house, back to either quietly ignoring his mother’s remarks about his hair and his clothes and his general existence, or else rebelling and facing her wrath. He’d had a bad habit of going with the latter option.

James always invited him to stay for the summer, but while Sirius could get away with going to the Potters’ over the winter holiday by telling his parents he was staying at school, Walberga and Orion Black would never have let him stay with a bunch of blood traitors like the Potters over an entire summer. Regulus sometimes had a fellow Slytherin or two over to stay in the summer months, but Sirius (who wouldn’t have wanted his friends to see his house anyway) had been expressly forbidden from bringing anyone home. Even if Sirius had had any proper, pureblood Slytherin friends, his mother never would have let him have a boy in his room.

Sirius had gotten through the summers by writing long letters to his friends, communicating with James via a set of two-way mirrors, and sneaking out of the house at every opportunity. James and Peter lived too far away to visit London proper much, but Remus’ parents had lived just outside the city limits and, his mother being a muggle, had owned a car.

The summer before sixth year, before Sirius ran away, had been the worst of them all. Walberga had found the mirror he’d been using and confiscated it. She’d found a note from Edgar Bones folded up in one of his textbooks (why he’d kept it, Sirius didn’t know), and her fury over its contents had been explosive. She’d threatened to break his wand and toss him out on the street to live with the muggle filth and degenerates. Sirius had snapped, all rage and hormones and hurt as he was, and said he’d wished she would, that at least then he’d be free of her and the Black family name.

It was the first time Walberga had ever used the Cruciatus curse on him.

Sirius had stayed in his room for days after that, curled up on his bed, ignoring the owls that swooped in at night. He read the letters in his fetal position, tossing them listlessly into a pile without returning so much as a word, even when James’ owl, Taj, pecked gently at the back of his neck.

The letters became increasingly desperate.

_Padfoot,_

_What happened to your mirror? Did your mum find out we’ve been talking? I tried to spell you and all I got was a load of pitch black. Write back, would you, and let me know you’re alright._

_\- Prongs_

_Padfoot,_

_You better have a good reason for not returning my owls. Every time I see Taj’s talons empty, a bit of my soul dies. Write me back pronto. You know I’m lost without you._

_-Prongs_

_Padfoot,_

_If you don’t write me back soon, I’m going to come to London and start combing the city in a grid looking for you. Are these owls getting you in trouble? (Mrs. Black, if you’re the one reading this, could you kindly sod off?) I need you to write back. Seriously, Sirius. You can’t go silent on me after the crap you pulled at the end of term. I’m getting worried about you. Let me know you’re reading this._

_-Prongs_

_Padfoot,_

_Prongs is sending me daily owls, asking if I’ve heard from you. Are you alright, mate? I told him I’m sure you are fine, but he’s getting kind of frantic. Write us back._

_-Wormtail_

_Padfoot,_

_What’s going on? I think Prongs is going to go ballistic if you don’t write back to him soon. It’s been a week, and he says that’s like a year in Marauders time. We’re all really worried about you. I’m coming into London on Monday. Send me your address. I’ll come rescue you if I have to._

_-Moony_

Sirius had only replied to the last one, scribbling the address on the back of Remus’ note and handing it back to the large black owl who had cocked its head and looked at him as if it were judging his penmanship. Sirius had rolled back on his side and gone back to sleep.

He couldn’t blame his friends, really. That June, the last few weeks of term in their fifth year, had been the worst he’d ever had at Hogwarts. It had started with Snivellus, of course. Snape had been worse than ever since the incident with Lily out on the grounds after their O.W.L.s. He’d been hexing and wheedling at the Gryffindor boys nonstop, clearly enraged and humiliated by what James had done. His outburst at Lily seemed to have finally cost him her friendship (a friendship Sirius had never understood in the first place), and without it he’d been even meaner, even more conniving.

There had been one last full moon before the term let out. Remus had insisted that the rest of them sit this one out because they needed to study for the last of their O.W.L.s and they’d reluctantly agreed. Remus had taken an exam early with special permission, and disappeared for the rest of the day to hide out in the Shrieking Shack.

Sirius had taken a break from studying in the library to meet with Peony Hornby, the Ravenclaw girl he sometimes fooled around with on weekends. Their rendezvous that afternoon had turned into studying anyway, because Peony liked to talk between kisses and they both had their Transfiguration O.W.L. coming up. Sirius was not at all worried about the exam and he thought he might rather have helped Peony out with his contributions, which was rare for their dynamic.

He’d left her to go back to his books, James, and Peter, and nearly run into Snape on his way into the castle.

“Watch it, Snivellus,” Sirius growled, already pulling his wand out from his pocket. Snape was carrying a steaming cauldron of something foamy that had nearly spilled on him.

“I’d be careful here, if I were you,” Snape said, sneering at him. His greasy black hair was swept back from his forehead, a stringy pompadour that had never worked for him. “This is mostly poisonous to ingest, but even I don’t know what it does to the skin, so…” He tipped the cauldron forward just an inch and Sirius lept back before the frothy liquid could land on him. Snape laughed unpleasantly. “I’d hate to think how it might spoil you, _pretty boy._ Might even burn you enough to _make the sword drop_.”

Sirius’ stomach turned over. Snape’s smile was as snide as ever and his dark eyes were glittering with malice. All Sirius could think was that he knew. That those words were too pointed to be a coincidence. Belby must have told Snape about that night in the empty classroom; _pretty boy. The sword dropping. Damocles._

It didn’t mean anything.

Sirius faked a yawn. He thought his stomach might never stop dropping. He wanted to punch Snape, wanted to beat him like muggles did, until his stupid sneer was gone, until his mouth was full of blood and broken teeth and he couldn’t ever say another word about _that_. He wanted to change into his dog form and maim him with his claws.

“Tell you what, Snivellus,” Sirius said, tamping down the chaos in his intestines. “You really want to spoil the game? You really want to know what it’s like, having friends? I know you’ve been trying to follow us everywhere, trying to figure out what we’re up to. Fine. Tonight is the chance of a lifetime for a voyeur like you.” And before he could stop himself, he’d leaned in and told Snape that if he just pressed the knot on the Whomping Willow, he could discover all the answers he’d ever dreamed of.

Snape looked at him with eyes full of hatred and distrust. “Why would I ever follow any advice from you?” he spat.

“Because you’re too stupid not to,” Sirius said, and walked away.

“You didn’t.” All of the blood had drained from James’ face and he grabbed Sirius’ arm, squeezing it too tight. “Sirius, you didn’t actually tell him to do that.”

It was evening. James and Sirius had left Peter, still studying, and snuck out to walk the perimeter of the lake closest to the Forbidden Forest. Sirius had spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the same paragraph of his Transfiguration textbook without reading it. There was something terrible inside him, curled up at the pit of his stomach, coiling up into his chest. He’d focused on the physical sensation of it because if he looked at the rolling wave of emotion behind it, he thought he’d drown.

Sirius shrugged. “Serves him right if he goes through with it, stupid git.”

“You don’t mean that.” James stood stock-still and he was looking at Sirius in a way he’d never looked at him before. “You don’t actually want Snape to die.”

“I’m not bothered either way.”

“We’ve got to go, we’ve got to make sure he hasn’t actually gone down the tunnel.”

Sirius laughed. It sounded too high to his own ears. “Ah, come off it. If he’s enough of an idiot to do what an enemy tells him to do, he deserves what’s coming to him.”

“Sirius, Remus would kill him. He’d rip him apart.”

“Who cares.”

“Remus would care,” James said. His voice was hard and he was looking at Sirius like he didn’t know him. “You’ll care, if he dies.”

“I’m not going after him.”

“Dammit, Padfoot, what’s wrong with you?!” James ran a hand through his hair unconsciously, clearly agitated. When Sirius said nothing, he swore and took off running toward the Whomping Willow.

Sirius had kept strolling around the lake. It was pleasant out. Cool, but not cold. The breeze off the lake lifted his hair until he pulled it up into a sloppy bun at the back of his head. He wasn’t really thinking about Snape, or about the way James had looked at him. He wasn’t even thinking about what Remus would say, if he did wake up to find that he had mauled another boy (Sirius hadn’t thought about that at all).

Sirius was thinking about how much he needed a drink. Five drinks, maybe. Five drinks, and he’d start to feel okay. The alcohol would kill the thing living inside him, kill all the emotions behind it. He felt dirty and ashamed, and he wasn’t sure why, except that maybe that was his default feeling. Maybe his mother was right, and there was something rotten right in his very core, the way that wands went bad sometimes if their cores were made from inferior material.

He was thinking about his mother, last summer, locking him in a wardrobe with a boggart, without his wand. The way she had laughed when she’d finally opened the doors hours later and he’d been curled on the floor of the wardrobe, shaking. Her laughter had shaken the boggart (a dead James. Dead Remus. Dead Peter), and she’d disposed of it easily.

Sirius was thinking about Belby, and Hornby, and Bones, about the other people who wanted him because was pretty, and how in that moment, he didn’t want anyone or anything. In two years, school would be over, and he wouldn’t even have the Marauders then. He might not even have them tomorrow, if Snape got himself killed and Sirius was expelled. Even if Snape hadn’t gone down the tunnel (and Sirius was pretty sure he would have), he might finally have gone too far, even for James. If James couldn’t even understand him anymore, there was no point to anything.

Sirius had reached the far side of the lake, where there were a few boulders half-submerged in the water on a tiny, rocky beach. He sat down on one of the boulders and looked out over the lake. He could see the lights of the castle in the distance. Hogwarts was the only home he’d ever known. Normally, he thought it was magnificent at night, torch light gleaming in the windows, the turrets a dark shadow against the purple-gray-blue sky. That night, it had just looked like a place he was leaving.

Sirius didn’t know how long he sat there with the full moon glaring down at him like a reprimand. He pulled out his wand and ran his fingers along its length. His dragon heartstring had never failed him.

_The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Black._

“What’d you think you were getting?” Sirius whispered down to the wand in his hand. He felt numb. Too numb to care that he was talking to an inanimate object. “Did you think you were getting my family name? A proper, noble Black? Did you think you were going to Slytherin? My mother could have told you I have no ambition. Just a foolhardy Gryffindor through and through.”

But if he were brave, if he were truly brave…

Sirius looked up at the full moon overhead and felt as if it agreed with him. He gripped his wand and touched it to his wrist.

“ _Sectumsempra_ ,” he mumbled.

He must have lost consciousness rather quickly. He didn’t remember sliding off the boulder into the lake.

The next thing he remembered was the moon, in a different angle of his vision seeming to nod approvingly at him, and being wet (how had that happened?), but not being in water, not being in anything. He was floating, zooming, actually, through the air (broom? No, he’d have to be upright on a broom). Then the moon blinked out and everything was black (had he closed his eyes? If he had, he couldn’t open them).

He heard James’ voice in his dream, desperate and terrified. “Please, please help him. Don’t let him die. He can’t die.”

“Stand back, son.”

“I shouldn’t have left him. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“Have a seat, Potter. There’s nothing you can do here.”

A tickling sensation was creeping through his body, pinpricks of light flashing in the dark. He felt as if something were re-growing inside of him, the same sort of feeling he got whenever Walburga was fixing him up. He fought it instinctively and the thrashing made his arm throb and sting. He hated the feeling of bones mending beneath his skin. It made him feel like the very things inside him, inside his own body, didn’t belong to him. This feeling was everywhere, between his bones. in his veins, bursting in the dark.

He still couldn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to know anything anymore.

The first thing Sirius remembered seeing after that was a pair of half-moon spectacles glinting in the morning light coming in through the hospital wing’s large windows. Sirius was warm, tucked beneath an excessive number of blankets, and he felt very peaceful. He blinked a few times, clearing the blur of sleep from his eyes, and found Dumbledore at the side of his bed, leaning forward with his long nose resting on his steepled fingers.

“How are you feeling, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked, when he saw that Sirius was awake.

“I’m fine, sir,” Sirius said, sitting up. The pillows at his back were marvelously overstuffed. They were what he liked best about being in the hospital wing, and he’d been there enough times to have started a list. He couldn’t quite remember why he was there at the moment. He thought it might have had something to do with Snivellus. Or… he remembered the full moon had been the night before. They hadn’t lost control of Moony, had they?

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said casually. His face was unreadable. “You gave us two rather impressive scares last night, my boy.”

“Um,” Sirius said, racking his brain for some clue as to what, exactly, he might have done.

“Severus is going to be just fine, as I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know. What you were thinking, trying to lure him into meeting a fully transformed werewolf, I cannot imagine. And that is saying something, as I usually manage to imagine seven impossible things before breakfast. Lucky for you both, I think, James managed to get there just in time to stop Severus from going more than a step into the Shrieking Shack. Nevertheless, to knowingly send another boy into the path of a werewolf, to endanger his life and the secret of your friend… Those are choices beyond the simple folly of youth, Sirius.”

Dumbledore’s eyes bore into him. “Can you tell me what you were thinking when you sent Severus out last night?”

It was coming back to him. Snape, his snide comments, James’ face as he asked _“What’s wrong with you?”_ , the full moon standing in judgement of him, the numbness, the wanting to stop…

Sirius shook his head, unable to speak. Dumbledore held his gaze, and Sirius wanted to look away more than anything, but found that he couldn’t. It took him several long moments to realize that Dumbledore’s eyes, always brimming with power, weren’t narrowed in disgust at him. They were soft and sad.

“Sirius, were you trying to kill yourself last night?”

It was a shock to have someone say the words out loud. No one ever said things like that, not so matter-a-fact. They hemmed and hawed and danced around the language. It was different, to be asked.

Sirius shook his head again. He thought he might start crying, but his eyes felt too dry. “N-no, sir. Must have scraped my arm climbing up the rocks.”

Dumbledore sighed. He stood and put one of his hands on Sirius’ shoulder. “I trust that I need not swear you to secrecy about Remus Lupin?” Sirius shook his head once more. “And I further trust that I need not tell you how much trouble you would be in if James had not reached Severus in time last night. Whatever you are going through, and I do not mean to devalue it by saying this, you must not let it make you into someone who is careless with your own and others’ lives. You will be an adult wizard in the blink of an eye and you will be fully responsible for your actions. I suggest you start practicing that responsibility now.”

Dumbledore’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “You will be an adult in an instant, Sirius. Even if it feels a thousand years away to you today. Take the word of an old man, your life is just beginning. Between you and me, I’ve been considering eliminating Divination from our curriculum at Hogwarts, but I do not need tea leaves and a crystal ball to tell you that your life if full of joys, and losses, and triumphes, and disappointment, and love that you cannot even imagine now. If the time comes when you are ready to be honest about what happened last night, I hope that you will find me.”

“I… Thank you, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“I know you are, Sirius. I know.”

There hadn’t been time for Sirius’ friends to press him too much on what had happened. He’d repeated the scraped-on-a-boulder story, but even Peter had not looked very convinced by it. It wasn’t as if Sirius had really wanted to die. Not really. He’d just wanted to stop. He’d just wanted to feel something through the numbness. James, who had actually seen the wound on his arm, looked like maybe he wanted to suffocate Sirius with one of the fluffy hospital-wing pillows. But he’d also brought him some honking daffodils for his bedside table.

Sirius had been released in time to take their last O.W.L.s. Remus had been livid with him about Snape, but had also seemed too terrified of upsetting him to say anything about it. Snape himself looked ready to curse Sirius both times they saw each other, but there were always too many people around.

And then, just like that, nothing had changed. Sirius had another scar on his arm and he was heading back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place for another summer of pretending not to exist.

Until the Monday Remus showed up on his doorstep, Sirius had not been planning to run away. He had fantasized about it, of course, but he’d never thought he’d actually do it. He didn’t have any gold of his own or any relatives to turn to. At the time, he couldn't have said why he'd responded to Remus’ letter out of the litany, except perhaps, that Remus had asked him for a concrete thing and given him a concrete time. All he'd had to do was write down his address, not explain how he was or anything that had happened.

When Remus rang the doorbell, Sirius was the only one home. He'd been laying on his back on top of his bed, blasting tiny burn marks into his ceiling. He'd forgotten what day it was, and he didn't get up to answer the doorbell until the third ring. Kreacher normally got the door, but Walberga had taken him to Diagon Alley with her to carry the shopping.

Sirius opened the door, blinking in the light of a full summer day to find Remus in a t-shirt and jeans, his stupid wispy mustache finally shaved off, looking adorable and out of place.

Sirius had been suddenly conscious of how many days it had been since he'd taken a shower or brushed his hair, and he was wearing a faded AC/DC t-shirt, pyjama bottoms, and underwear he hadn't changed in at least two days.

“Moony,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Forgot you were coming, mate.”

Remus eyes had swept over him from head to toe, some of the tightness in his jaw easing. “You look like shit,” he said.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Sirius had said, and stepped back to let Remus in. “Listen, you'd better not stay long. Give me a minute to get dressed and we'll go out. You drove, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Remus had looked around the house with his eyes wide and his eyebrows nearly shooting off his forehead. “This is where you live?!”

“Come on, hurry up. You stare too long into Number 12 Grimmauld Place, it starts to stare back into you. I won't be a moment, I've just got to find clean pants.”

Remus had stood awkwardly with his back turned, looking at the muggle posters on Sirius’ walls while Sirius stripped and redressed - pants, dark-blue jeans, the Queen shirt his mother hated most, and leather jacket. It was too hot for the jacket, but it had been a gift from James and was a size too big for Sirius which made him feel small and oddly comforted.

“So,” Remus said, very pointedly looking at the half-naked models and pictures of motorbikes Sirius had used a sticking charm to put on his walls. “You have decapitated house-elves in your hall and muggle women in bathing suits in your room? Who is your decorator?”

Sirius felt himself smile for what might have been the first time that summer. “I put those up when I was thirteen. I thought mum was going to toss me out there and then. Suppose she would have if it was James Dean or something.”

“Oh? Is James your type?” Remus turned around, smirking at him, and Sirius shoved him lightly.

“Aye, it’s all in the name, you know. Come on, let’s go, before anyone comes home.”

Remus didn’t argue and they made it out of the house and into Remus’ beat-up off-green Ford Cortina. The passenger side door could only be opened from the inside and both of the front seats had long patches of duct tape covering rips in fabric, but the cab smelled familiar, like Remus himself.

“I got my license my first week back,” Remus said as he turned the car out of Grimmauld Place. “Mum was dead chuffed about it. She’s alright with magic, but I suppose it’s nice for her to have something she understands. Plus, dad never could figure out how to drive, and now she doesn’t have to make all the trips to the store.”

It was nice, driving with Remus, the windows down and the sun shining into the car. Sirius liked listening to him talk, he was less reserved like this, when it was just the two of them. The pale light lines of scars across Remus’ knuckles stood out clear in the sunlight where his hands gripped the steering wheel.

“Are you going to let me drive, Moony?”

Remus laughed. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, please. I want to learn.”

“Exactly, you’ve never even driven before. I am not explaining to my mum that one of my mad friends crashed her car.”

“I thought you said your mum loves us.”

Sirius had only met Mr. and Mrs. Lupin briefly, twice a year at Platform 9 ¾, but Remus had told him how much his mother gushed over the boys. ( _“She never stops asking about you all and offering to drive me into London over the summer to see you.”_ ) From what Sirius had wheedled out of him over the years, Remus hadn’t had friends before coming to Hogwarts. His parents, terrified of what would happen if anyone found out he’d been bitten, had forbidden him from playing with other children. He’d spent all of his time since the age of five reading all of the books in the house and playing by himself in their various back gardens - the Lupins had moved around a lot to keep anyone from noticing the patterns. When Dumbledore had shown up at their house one evening and told them there was no reason Remus couldn’t attend school just like any other boy, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin had both cried.

“Fair point,” Remus said from the driver’s seat. “If I crash the car, I’m blaming it on you.”

“Where are we going then?”

“I dunno. Away? You want to tell me what’s been going on?”

Sirius put his feet up on the dashboard and heaved a sigh. “No. It’s just the usual.”

“You haven’t been writing us back.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Liar.”

“I’ve been busy not writing you back.”

“Pratt.”

“My mum found a note from Bones in one of my textbooks.” Sirius snuck a glance at Remus from the corner of his eye. He was still navigating out of the neighborhood and he didn’t take his eyes from the road, but Sirius thought he saw his jaw tighten.

“Oh.”

“It was pretty bad.”

Remus didn’t say anything. Sirius knew he was waiting for him to elaborate, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t talk about what it had felt like, what it still felt like. After several long moments of strained silence, Remus turned the steering wheel abruptly, crossing an empty lane and pulling the car up squealing in the car park of a muggle bank.

“What are you doing -” Sirius started to ask, but Remus was already unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Get out,” he said, opening his own door.

There were three cars in the car park and little else. A few weeds had pushed through spots in the pavement. The bank appeared to be open, but there was no one outside and no one that Sirius could see through the windows. He stretched, feeling the sun burn against his face. It felt good to be outside.

Remus tossed the keys over the top of the car. Sirius caught them, his face lighting up.

“C’mon then. I’ll teach you to drive.”

It was a good day after that. Remus even let him take the car out on the road, although he threatened to disembowel Sirius if he went more than ten over the speed limit. They stayed out until the sun was setting, late as that was in the summer evenings. Remus had taken the driver’s seat back and was heading in the general direction of Grimmauld Place. As they got closer and closer to the turn-off, Sirius’ stomach started twisting into knots.

Both of his parents would be back by now.

Remus had turned on the radio and was humming along to a song Sirius didn’t know.

He’d be in trouble for leaving without a note.

It was a good song, maybe, but try as he might, Sirius couldn’t hear the words. They were too loud and too quiet at the same time.

They’d see him get out of the car - a muggle car - and say goodbye to Remus. Sirius wondered what Walberga would say if she saw him hug Remus. He wondered what she’d do if he dared to kiss him.

Remus was saying something. Not the lyrics. Sirius could hear him, but he wasn’t making any sense. It was like he was speaking another language.

_Crucio!_

_“He’s had enough, Walberga.”_

_Crucio!_

_“Stains of dishonor. Filth. Shame of my blood.”_

_“For Salazar’s sake, Walberga, you’re going to kill the boy.”_

“Sirius. Sirius. Padfoot! Snap out of it, come on, lad.”

Sirius had folded in on himself, doubled over with the seat belt cutting into his shoulder. He was gasping for breath so hard that it was almost like dry-heaving. He could hear Remus perfectly, but the words weren’t coming through with any meaning. Had someone cast a Confundus charm on him? Was he having a stroke?

Remus’ hand was rubbing up and down his spine. The car had stopped. The radio was off, but Sirius could still hear something, and it took him some time to realize that he was the one talking without any idea what he was saying. It was that realization and the sharp spike of fear of what he might be saying to Remus, of all people, that pulled him back into his body.

Sirius found that he was mumbling the Black family motto under his breath over and over again. “ _Toujours pur, toujours pur, toujours pur_ …”

He made himself stop, cutting off the French with a choking noise.

“What’s wrong with me?” He whispered into his knees.

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Remus’ hand kept a steady rhythm up and down his spine.

“I feel like I’m gonna faint or be sick.”

“That’s anxiety, love.”

“S’not,” Sirius said, still to his knees. Remus stroking his back was calming him down somewhat, but there still seemed to be a dragon trying to get out of his chest. “What’ve I got to be anxious about? I’ve got my wand and my looks. What more does a chap need?” 

Remus stopped rubbing his back and rested his hand on the base of Sirius’ spine. “Padfoot, I know something’s wrong. What happened this summer?”

Sirius shuddered. “Nothing.”

“So you always have panic attacks on your way home?”

“S’not panic.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll make it more macho for you. Manic’s already taken, how about manxiety? Will that do?”

“Some help you are.”

“I’d be serious about it if you’d let me.”

Sirius took a very long breath, trying to hold it as deep within himself as he could, and sat up. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Remus did a very un-Remus thing then, and took Sirius’ face between both of his hands. “I have never seen you less okay.” He leaned forward so that their noses were almost touching and Sirius found he couldn’t quite breathe again. “I’m not going to leave you like this.” His breath was hot on Sirius’ face.

It would have taken so little for Sirius to lean forward two inches and kiss Remus. Remus, who was the best of them, really, who cleaned up after their mess and made sure no one got seriously injured in their prank wars, who was so smart and brave and good.

Sirius was never going to be good enough to kiss him. Not the way things were going.

“I’m sorry about Snape,” Sirius said. Remus blinked at him for a moment, caught off-guard.

“It’s okay,” he said, letting his hands fall from Sirius’ face.

“It’s not.”

“Okay, it’s not. But I’m not mad at you.” Remus cut a glance at him. “Anymore.”

Sirius let himself smile a little. Maybe he didn’t have to be good enough. Maybe he just had to be better.

“Moony, do you think you could drop me off at the train station?”

Remus had insisted on driving Sirius the four hours out to Manchester. By the time they got to the Potter’s house it was late, and Fleamont and Euphemia Potter wouldn’t hear of Remus driving all the way back home. James hadn’t stopped beaming all night at the surprise arrival of his friends. They’d had gooseberry tarts and pumpkin juice as a snack, then all piled into James’ ludicrously large bed. Sirius had slept in the middle of his two favorite people in the world (he was honest enough to put Peter third), and until the night of James’ death, he’d never stepped foot back inside Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or anyone you know is ever considering suicide, please call your local emergency number or crisis line: The Samaritans at 116 123 (UK), Crisis Call Center at 1-800-273-8255 (USA).  
> There is also a Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 in the United States.


	17. 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content Warning*: Discussion of past sexual abuse, some body horror

## July, 1982 - London and Thereabouts

Sirius payed the horned owl a bronze knut and took the copy of the Daily Prophet from it, barely registering the action. He, Remus, and Harry were all sitting around the table (Harry in a booster seat), eggs, jam and toast, and some sort of potato concoction spread out before them. Life really had gotten easier with Kreacher on board to their general existence.

Sirius opened up the Daily Prophet and promptly spat his mouthful of pumpkin juice all over the front page.

Remus, who was cutting up toast into bite-sized pieces for Harry, looked up with the old fear back in his eyes. During Voldemort’s reign of terror, they had all dreaded the morning paper. “What is it?” he asked.

Sirius waved his wand to dry the paper (it had only smudged a little). The front page was taken up entirely by the picture of a man with fuzzy eyebrows like twin caterpillars and a deep self-satisfied smile. Underneath the picture was the headline “ORDER OF MERLIN FIRST CLASS AWARDED TO DAMOCLES BELBY FOR INVENTION OF THE WOLFSBANE POTION.”

Sirius handed the paper over to Remus without reading the article, and he watched Remus peruse the front page with a frown on his face.

“Oh,” he said. “Yes, Dumbledore mentioned he knew a potions master who was working on this. I didn’t take it seriously, to be honest. I’m still not sure… I mean, I wouldn’t get your hopes up. They don’t say how many people it’s been tested on…”

“Wait, what?” Sirius snatched the paper back, skimming the article, and would have spat out pumpkin juice all over again if there had been anything in his mouth. “Moony, this is… this is a cure?”

“It’s not a cure,” Remus said calmly, going back to cutting up more toast for Harry. His fingers were shaking slightly around the knife. “There is no cure for lycanthropy.”

“But it’s a stop gap.” Sirius didn’t know which emotion to pay attention to. There was Belby, smirking up at him from the paper on the table, and then there was the possibility that he’d never have to see Remus’ face after coming home from St. Mungo’s again. “It could help you.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?! Is that all you have to say?”

Sirius knew immediately that he’d put his foot in his mouth. Remus’ face was drawn and his lips thinned as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“I spent five years having all sorts of “cures” tested on me, Sirius. My parents tried everything they could think of, everything anyone could think of. I was so relieved when they stopped trying. I didn’t want to be a werewolf, but I didn’t want to be a lab experiment either. If I can afford to pay someone to make this for me, then okay, maybe we give it a try. The Order of Merlin does make a difference, but try not to get your hopes up for something miraculous.” Remus wiped jam off of his fingers onto Harry’s bib, already painted in breakfast food colors. “I’m not getting mine up.”

Sirius wanted to reach across the table and take Remus’ hands, sticky fingers and all, but he didn’t dare. He looked down at Belby again. He hadn’t seen the older Slytherin since he’d graduated. He’d aged well, his fuzzy eyebrows now matched by a fuzzy jawline.

“I’ll pay for someone to make it,” Sirius said. He didn’t bother to offer trying to make the potion himself. Lily could have, but Lily wasn’t there. “And if we can’t find anyone who knows how, I… I think Belby might do it himself if I asked.”

Remus glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “I didn’t know you knew Damocles Belby.”

“He was at school with us.”

“I remember. Three years ahead, wasn’t he? Or four? Played Keeper for Slytherin?”

“That’s the one.”

“I definitely don’t recall us being on friendly terms with any Slytherins.”

“Well, I don’t know about friendly, but we were on, uh, some sort of terms.” Sirius was going for a rakish grin, but thought it might have ended up pained.

Remus looked at him uncomprehendingly until Sirius made a rather obscene hand gesture. Remus’ eyes went wide and the furrow between them deepened. “What?” he said sharply. “When?”

Sirius told him briefly about shagging Belby that night in fourth year. He hoped it came out like bragging, but Remus had this look on his face like he might be sick, and it was hard to talk about Belby with any bravado when Remus was looking at him like that, like he was a flobberworm.

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus said, when Sirius finished. He sounded desperately sad and Sirius wished he would look away. He was making Sirius feel ashamed and dirty again. “You were _drunk_.”

Sirius blinked. Of course he’d had a little problem, but that was over now. Remus knew it was over.

“And you were _fourteen_.” Remus really did sound desperate. He was staring at Sirius as if willing him to understand.

“What?” Sirius said, not understanding where Remus was going at all. “I was cute at fourteen.”

“You were a _child_ at fourteen. He was seventeen. And sober. And a Prefect.”

Sirius laughed. “Meaning he was supposed to be above temptation?”

“Meaning that he was in a position of power over you. He’d just docked points from you. He knew you were drunk. He knew that you were fourteen.”

What Remus was trying to say finally clicked. Sirius laughed again. He started buttering his own toast. “Oh, come off it. He was only three years older than me. That’s hardly statutory.”

“It is, actually.” Remus wasn’t smiling. He’d placed a mound of bread in front of Harry, who was happily sucking the jam off of each piece before setting it back down uneaten. “Three years is a lot at that age. And it’s not just that.”

“Come on, Moony, don’t be such a prude.” Sirius had spread so much butter on his bread without realizing it that it resembled nothing so much as a layer of white frosting. “I wanted to do it, okay? I don’t remember, I might have even started it.”

“But don’t you… Sirius, it’s not okay that you don’t remember it.” Remus’ voice was getting higher and higher in pitch. “It’s not about whether you wanted it or enjoyed it-”

“Which I did.”

“- It’s that you weren’t in a position to give consent.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and took a bite of his toast. It felt like cardboard in his mouth. Slimey, buttery cardboard. “Mate, I was the one shagging him, alright? He was hardly taking advantage of me.”

Remus seemed like he wanted to hit something, but Sirius felt very, very far away from the conversation.

“That really, really doesn’t matter,” Remus said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Know what?”

“That assault isn’t just predicated on penetration.”

“Ah, blimey, Moony. Let’s just forget about it, okay? It was a long time ago. Plenty of bodies bridging the gap between me and Belby. I’ll write to Slughorn, if you like. He was always falling over himself to get me in that stupid club of his. I’m sure he could make the potion, and he doesn’t have to know it’s for you.”

Remus looked like he had a lot more to say, but he bit his lip and fell silent. He was quiet for the rest of the morning, and Sirius took Harry to the park in the afternoon to get away from his sulking. Beth and Eliza were there, as was Lyonette Bridgeport from the neighbor’s association and her daughter. Harry and Eliza chased each other up and down the playground, shrieking and tumbling. They fell a lot.

“Are you okay? You seem quiet today.”

Sirius found Beth looking at him with her baby-blue eyes, so different from Remus’ which were the blue-gray of twilight, full of a tender concern. Tenderness had always unnerved Sirius. He thought it was probably why he’ always loved McGonagall best of all his professor at Hogwarts - she was always brisk and stern and she expressed her begrudging fondness with a great deal of emotional constipation. The softness in Beth’s eyes was too… personal.

Sirius thought he could probably get away with kissing Beth, if he wanted to. She had a husband, but that didn’t mean nearly as much as people thought. It was would be a distraction, a shiny new thing to play with and forget the morning’s upset. And it would be utterly unfair of him.

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“You haven’t had a fight with Remus, have you?” This came from Sirius’ other side, and he turned to find Lyonette there. How she managed to sneak up like that on someone who still had the lingering hypervigilance of war, Sirius never could figure out.

“Who’s Remus?” Beth asked, the concern in her eyes turning to intrigue. She and Lyonette knew each other, of course, because Lyonette seemed to know everyone in the neighborhood.

“Uh,” Sirius said. He looked out at the playground, hoping that Harry might need him. Harry and Eliza were sitting in the wood chips, happily stacking the chips into tottering towers. “He’s…”

“Oh no. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot, dear. Only, there’s no need to be shy. Beth’s got a cousin, you know, _on your side_.”

Sirius bit the inside of his lip to keep from snorting. It was amazing, really, that the muggle world could be backwards and clueless in so many ways, and yet was more progressive by far in some areas of social equity. The wizarding world, Lily had said once, was still in the Old World. The blood purism and old money was a part of that, but it seemed to Sirius that much of the difference was due to muggle resiliency. They had struggled to get on without magic, inventing proxies in the name of science (and science meant very different things to muggles than to wizards). They had created a modern age while witches and wizards were still refusing the convenience of electricity and plumbing because they simply didn’t understand or trust it. Sure, Sirius could conjure light or even manipulate electric current to turn on a radio, but why bother? Why spend the energy casting spells when there was a perfectly decent alternative that was almost magic itself?

Lily and Remus had once spent a largely fruitless afternoon trying to explain particle physics to James and Sirius, and at the end of it Sirius had decided that muggles did have their own version of magic.

At any rate, Sirius had noticed on his afternoons out in London that while homosexuality was certainly a taboo topic in the muggle world, it was… different. There was Freddie Mercury, and Bowie, and Cabaret. Sirius had even found a flyer at one of the cafes for the UK Lesbian and Gay Centre (it had been taken down the next time he went in), and he’d heard about at least one bar that catered to the community. These things might be rare, or shocking, or elicit, but they were there and they were clearly gaining acceptance with the younger crowd.

In the wizarding world, as far as Sirius could tell, you just didn’t talk about That Sort of Thing. Really, proper British wizarding communities didn’t talk about sex at all, and they were so phobic about new ideas when it came to muggleborns, squibs, blood, or race, that it was no wonder there were no openly gay witches or wizards. There had been some rumors about Bathilda Bagshot, famed author and historian, who had lived for 12 years with another woman and never married, but then the woman had died without it ever being confirmed and no one brought it up in polite society anyway.

Sirius, never having entertained the notion of being part of polite society, had brought his sexuality up rather a lot. Hogwarts, having been inhabited primarily by hormone-driven teenagers, it hadn’t been that difficult to find boys who were interested in at least experimenting. It was boarding school, after all.

“Um,” Sirius said, as Beth’s eyes widened slightly. “Remus is my… co-parent, I suppose.”

“Like a partner? You have a partner, and all this time you've been letting me worry about you and Harry fending for yourselves?” Beth slapped his shoulder lightly. “Shame on you.”

“It’s complicated.” Sirius rubbed the back of his neck, feeling very glad that Remus had not come along with them.

“Silly boy, it’s London. None of the girls care about that.”

“Uh, no, I mean… I mean, yes, I’m gay, but…” Sirius suddenly remembered holding hands with his muggle friend in this very park, not thinking anything of it, at around eight years old. He wondered what had happened to that boy. Sirius couldn’t even remember his name - Edward? Edwin? Edmond? He’d never spoken with him again, after Walberga had seen them together. “Um, Remus is just very private.”

It seemed easier to let the misunderstandings pile up than to start telling the truth at this point. In some ways, it seemed safer too, to let the muggles think that Harry was Harry Black and not Harry Potter, even if they didn’t know what that meant.

In the dark of the bedchamber, Sirius closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the silence felt too strained. Harry was sleeping through the night pretty regularly, but he had started moving around in his sleep, and Sirius didn’t dare follow him when he rolled closer to Remus’ side of the bed.

“I’m sorry.” Remus’ voice was barely above a whisper. Sirius cracked an eye warily. Remus was laying on his back with his arms above his head. Harry was snuggled into his side, a little leech for warmth.

“Don’t apologize,” Sirius said. “Whatever you think you’re apologizing for, it’s not necessary.”

“I think it is. You get to define your own narrative, Sirius, and I do want to respect that. It’s just that I also… I worry that you’re forcing yourself to believe the false idea that men can’t be raped -”

“Ah, geez, Moony -”

“Or that rape is only something that happens through physical force. It’s not my place to tell you that your experience was assault, and I am sorry that that was my initial reaction, but I can’t pretend I’m not worried about you. And I think that, if I told you that this was something that happened to me, you’d feel the way I’m feeling right now. Which is that I’d like to put Damocles Belby’s eyes out.”

The truth, of course, was that if Remus told him someone had hurt him, Sirius would have strung them up by their balls. It was still taking all of his self-restraint not to set St. Mungo’s on fire at every full moon.

“It’s… over now, okay? It doesn’t matter. I’m just… It doesn’t matter.” Sirius rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. He’d never told anyone about Belby. He’d felt like he couldn’t tell James, because of the rules and because he’d been ashamed of it in a way he hadn’t expected. He had never thought he’d be ashamed of sex, before he’d had it, but then he’d gone and lost his virginity to a Slytherin, and everything else about that night aside, he hadn’t been ready. “It was a long time ago. I kind of need it not to matter.”

Remus shifted. Sirius thought that he might be about to roll over and hug him, and he tensed. He was pretty sure that if Remus touched him now he would break apart.

Remus had only moved an arm around Harry, still fast asleep between them. “Sirius, have you ever considered seeing someone?”

“Um, I don’t think the love of a good man or woman is going to fix me at this point, Remus.”

Remus let out an exasperated little sigh. “I meant seeing a therapist, you dunce.”

Sirius thought about this for a moment. “Aren’t those the muggle doctors who think everyone wants to sleep with their mum? Because I’ve got to tell you, I have never had that problem.”

“No, it’s not like that. They’re just someone you can talk to about anything, really. About the things you’ve been through, and what you’re feeling. It helps to process.”

“I can talk to you about anything.”

“You could, but you don’t. And that’s not what I mean, anyway. Mostly, a therapist provides a space to process your emotions and someone to talk to who you don’t have to come home to at the end of the day. Someone who’s inevitably heard worse than whatever confessions you’ve got.”

“You’ve been to one?” Sirius couldn’t imagine reserved, quiet Remus laying on a leather couch talking about his feelings. He glanced over in time to see Remus nod, the room too dark to read his face properly.

“My parents made me go every summer until after I had surgery. They were trying to be helpful. I don’t think they were trying to stop me from being… well, me. I think they just wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to change my mind. It was okay, though. I’ve thought about going back, since October. I think it might help.”

“What did you tell them about magic?”

“Right, well, I left that part out.” Sirius could hear Remus’ smile, even though he couldn’t see it.

“I’ll think about it.” Sirius slid his arm across the bed, his hand finding Remus’ where it rested on Harry’s side. “And you’ll still take the potion?”

Remus opened his hand, letting their fingers intertwine. “If you’ll let me put out one of Belby’s eyes.”

Professor Slughorn was only too happy to accept Sirius’ request (and payment), and sent a series of owls over with freshly-brewed potion every day of the week leading up to the full moon. Remus complained that it tasted of tar and marmite ( _“One in the same, Moony”_ ), but he downed it anyway.

McGonagall agreed to take Harry for the night, and came to collect him in the early morning of the full-moon. It was the first night Harry was going to spend away from him since Halloween. Sirius was having a bit of a heart-attack about it, but he kept picturing the imprint of the silver chain that had half-strangled Remus, and it kept him from calling the whole thing off.

Harry didn’t cry when Sirius handed him to McGonagall. Sirius thought that maybe he didn’t dare. That was the sort of vibe McGonagall gave off, even around babies. Still, Sirius trusted her to look after Harry more than he trusted Augusta Longbottom or anyone else.

“We can’t thank you enough, Minerva,” Remus said. He was leaning against the wall in the hallway, looking pale and ill. He always looked sickly before the change.

“Nonsense,” McGonagall said. For all her stiffness, she held Harry on her hip with natural ease. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“I’ll come pick him up around noon tomorrow, if that’s alright.” Sirius chucked Harry under the chin. Harry grinned at him and grabbed at his fingers. “You be a good boy for Auntie McGonagall, Harry.”

“Hmph,” McGonagall scoffed. “ _Auntie McGonagall_ indeed.”

Sirius thought she looked secretly pleased.

Remus was restless and sweaty. He couldn’t keep still and kept picking books up and putting them back down with soft noises of discomfort.

“What if it doesn’t work? I don’t feel any different. What if I tear the house apart? What if I get away from you? There’s still time to go to St. Mungo’s.”

“It’ll work. Even Professor Slughorn said so. And if it doesn’t, you’ve never gotten away from me before.”

“It was different, before.”

“I won’t let you get away, Moony.”

By the time evening was about to fall, Remus was trembling all over. Sirius had set up one of the ground floor parlor rooms with extra wards on the walls, just in case. It was a dimly lit den with no windows. Once Remus set to pacing there, Sirius sealed the door with a few extra enchantments, and pushed the lone couch and the old mahogany writing desk up against the walls. He set out a soft green rug he’d found rolled up in the attic and sat down on it, watching Remus pace back and forth like a caged animal.

“It won’t work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Nothing has ever worked.”

“We did. Me, and Prongs, and Wormtail. We helped.”

“I could have killed any of you.”

“You didn’t.”

When the clock on the wall chimed seven o’clock, Remus downed the last gobletful of potion, his face twisting as the liquid went down his throat. He shook his head as if to shake off the taste and shuddered.

He put the goblet down on the desk and returned to the middle of the room. They waited in silence.

When Remus’ back cracked, his shirt split. Sirius had forgotten about that part. The change wasn’t like transfiguration, where the spell shifted the whole being, clothes and all. Turning into a werewolf was a physical transformation of the skin and bones.

Sirius shifted into his dog self and went to all fours, bracing himself. He’d never had to tackle Remus by himself. James had always been there with his antlers perfect for herding a werewolf. He was pretty confident he could keep ahold of Remus, but they’d never had to test it alone.

Remus bent forward as if clutching his stomach in pain, the muscles in his back rippling, the audible popping of bones echoing in the room. Fur grew out along his spine. He sank to his knees just as his arms lengthened. For a fraction of a second, they were still arms covered in human skin, bent in all the wrong angles, terrible in their misshapen half-form. Then Remus gave a howl and stretched with a final pop of something in his torso.

A fully transformed werewolf stood in the middle of the room, panting lightly, yellow eyes gleaming in the dull torchlight. Sirius felt the fur along his back rise. He’d forgotten just how big a werewolf was, bigger even than his dog shape, with a longer jaw and sharper claws.

The wolf stood still, braced as Sirius was for a full minute. Than his back relaxed and he lifted one paw and inspected it. He lengthened his claws and retracted them. He gave the pads of the paw a cursory lick.

Sirius’ hackles went down and his tail wagged without him consciously making it. Even when they were out running under the full moon, Remus had never been this in control. At the end of the night, when they were all exhausted from their adventures, he would curl up and sleep, but at the beginning of each change he had been savage. Werewolves seemed designed to want to bite.

Remus sat down on his haunches and turned his head to look at himself. His own tail gave a half-wag, thudding against the floor. He looked at Sirius and whined. It was like a question. Sirius nodded his shaggy head and came over, tail still wagging (he never could figure out how to control that damn thing). Remus leaned forward slowly, cautiously, and bumped his nose against Sirius’. He whined again, and rubbed his face along Sirius’ face. Sirius licked his ear.

It was weird, being a dog. Sirius was still himself, mostly, still had his own thoughts, but his emotions were simpler and his stomach seemed virtually indestructible as a canine (he’d eaten a fair amount of small animals in the Forbidden Forest. Just to see if he could). His tail seemed to operate independently, and he had weird canine urges, like wanting to lick werewolves or chase squirrels.

Remus nuzzled him again, and then lay down, curling up with his bushy tail over his nose. He closed his eyes. Sirius lay down on his stomach with his head on his paws and watched his friend, his own tail gently thumping against the floor.

Sirius stayed awake throughout the night, even when he was sure Remus was not going to turn against him. He stayed awake and watched, keeping vigil. When Remus woke sometime in the early morning and began to twitch, Sirius changed back into human form. Remus’ change in reverse was just as awful and unnatural. It looked incredibly painful, fur shrinking under the skin, bones cracking as they fit back into a skin that was too small for them.

When it was done, Remus knelt panting the floor, naked and sweaty but unmarked. Sirius dropped to his knees in front of him and lifted Remus’ face.

“It worked, Moony,” he said, and found that his own voice shook. “It worked.”

Remus stared at him with bloodshot eyes and too-big pupils. He was trembling hard. He looked down at his hands, turning them over. He looked back up at Sirius for a moment before flinging himself into his arms.

It was quite something to have a naked Remus in his lap this early in the morning after no sleep, but Sirius wrapped his arms tight around his friend’s back and aggressively tried not to think about that. Remus started to sob, shaking violently in his arms.

Sirius had never seen Remus cry like this, with broken, heaving gasps, tears spilling down his face so hard that Sirius felt them soak through his t-shirt.

“Oh, Moony, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Sirius said, feeling quite inadequate.

Remus’ arms were wrapped around his neck, his hands fisted in Sirius’ shirt, holding him hard.

“All my life,” Remus choked out between sobs. “ _All my life_ , Sirius.”

Sirius tried to tighten his arms around Remus’ back, pressing their chests together, heedless of Remus’ sweat and tears. Remus’ legs were draped over one of Sirius’ thighs, his weight warm and comforting in Sirius’ lap.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Remus whispered, his face buried in Sirius’ neck, his voice muffled there against his shirt and with his tears. “I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Something clicked into place then that settled like a weight in Sirius’ chest. He understood for the first time what it must have meant for someone like Remus, patient and kind Remus, the Prefect, the rule-follower, the boy who drove six hours just to keep his friend out of harm, to have lived in fear of this since the age of five. He thought about Remus white-faced and terrified whenever he’d lied to them about the full moon, about his abject horror when they first suggested they all go out as animagus and werewolf, about his reserved carefulness, about him never being the one to take Sirius’ hand first, about him never saying anything when Sirius pulled back from him again in seventh year.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Remus said again. He spoke into Sirius’ skin, his mouth not quite kissing Sirius’ neck, but his breath warm against it.

Sirius managed to get one arm under Remus’ legs and he stood up, lifting him. Remus clung to him, not taking his head from Sirius’ neck, his shoulders still shaking. Sirius carried him all the way upstairs and set him on the bed, tucking the covers up and around him. Remus’ eyes were already closed by the time his head hit the pillow, tear tracks still visible on his cheeks.

Sirius smoothed back his hair and kissed his cheek. “It’s going to be okay, love.”

## July 31st, 1982 - London and Thereabouts

Harry’s absolute favorite birthday gift was a cardboard box that fit perfectly atop his head like a hat. Granted, the box had contained a pile of socks that had presumably been the intended gift from one of Harry’s many admirers, but Harry liked the box even better. He ran around with it on his head all afternoon, laughing like a madman.

“Look, daddy! Is a hat!” he giggled several times an hour, as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

It was a bright sunny day, and Remus and Sirius had driven Harry out to Kensington Gardens to have a picnic and open gifts. Sirius lay on their picnic blanket, one arm hanging off into the impeccably kept grass, feeling the sun beat down on his skin. He couldn’t stop smiling as he watched Harry run around the grass in his silly box, chasing down geese. He kept coming back and throwing himself on either Sirius or Remus, exuberant and beautiful in his delight at their outing. Sirius didn’t think he understood that it was his birthday, but that didn’t matter.

Sirius had thought that he would be sad, that he’d have to hide his unbearable grief so as not to ruin Harry’s day, but it wasn’t like that. It was one of those rare occasions when he found himself thinking about how much pride and joy Lily and James would have had to see their son growing into a person. How they would feel, wherever they were now, about their son growing up so loving and so loved.

Remus pulled out the treacle tart they’d agreed to let Harry try as a special treat and Harry plopped down in Sirius’ lap, his box-hat knocked askew, still giggling.

“Here, Harry,” Sirius said, reaching into the picnic basket and pulling out another of the endless packages. “One last gift for you.”

Harry managed to get all the wrapping paper off by himself to reveal a plush ostrich.

Remus glanced over and groaned at the grin on Sirius’ face. “You can’t force the boy to like ostriches, just by getting him a toy,” he said, brandishing the knife he was using on the treacle tart. “You are not going to convince Harry to transfigure himself into a ridiculous giant bird.”

Sirius reached beneath the toy and pulled out a tiny jumper with an ostrich knit across the front. “It’s not just the toy,” he said.

Remus threw a piece of treacle at him and it stuck in his long, loose hair. Harry laughed.

“Besides,” Remus said, a bit of color in his face as he passed Harry his own piece of pudding. “We don’t need him for that anymore.”

Sirius thought his face might hurt from all the smiling. “No,” he said. “No, we don’t need him for that anymore.”


	18. 1982 or "Give the People What They Want"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS NC-17
> 
> HAPPY FREAKING CHRISTMAS

## September 1st, 1982 - North London

Remus had suggested that at two years old, it might be time for Harry to have his own room. Sirius had grumbled and sulked, but Remus was usually right, and it really would be nice to stay up past eight o’clock without worrying about waking Harry coming into bed.

Sirius cleaned out Regulus’ old room and set up various toddler-sized furniture in there, along with an adult rocking chair for bedtime stories. Remus helped him put in bright yellow and blue wallpaper (he’d read somewhere that bright colors and stimulation were important for child development), and Harry didn’t seem to mind at all after the first few nights.

Sirius tried to sleep in his old room, but more often than not he ended up on the couch in the downstairs parlor. He didn’t like sleeping alone and he didn’t like being in his old bedroom. There were too many memories there.

At the start of September, sometime around midnight, Sirius was up in the downstairs parlor reading one of Remus’ books. It was called _Fascinating Factions of Fantastical Fearmongering_ and it was dead boring. He was even starting to get a little drowsy from it when he heard the creak of the stairs and Remus appeared in the parlor doorway a moment later.

“I saw the light,” he said. “What are you doing up?”

Sirius shrugged. Remus was wearing his soft grey pyjamas, looking sleepy and vulnerable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Remus yawned. “What are you reading?”

Sirius held up the book. “It’s fairly effective as a sleeping drought.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “It’s past midnight, Sirius. Come to bed.”

“I thought you said it was time I had a room of my own too.”

“It is, but I’m tired just looking at you. Come on.” Remus held out his hand and Sirius didn’t hesitate to put the book down and take it, unexpected as the gesture was. They were quiet in the hall and up the stairs, trying not to wake anything or anyone else up.

When Remus had shut the door to his room, he didn’t get back into bed immediately. His hair was tousled, like maybe he’d been tugging on it earlier.

“It’s September 1st,” he said. “Do you realize we met twelve years ago today?”

Sirius whistled, soft and low. “Has it really been twelve years?” There was something off in Remus’ voice and he couldn’t quite place it. Sirius let his hair down, pulling out his wand which he’d stuck through it to keep the bun in place (and boy, had Moody treated him to a lecture when he saw Sirius doing that), and putting it on the bedside table. “It feels both longer and shorter, somehow.”

“You know, you all were the first friends I ever had,” Remus said.

“I know. Me too.”

“And I don’t know where I’d be or what I’d be, without you.”

“Ah, Moony. You do know how to make a chap feel loved.”

Remus shook his head, rolling his eyes. He was looking at Sirius, and even though they’d dropped each other’s hands, Sirius hadn’t realized how close they were still standing. He wished he knew how to return the thing between them that Remus was trying to express, how to tell him that the last twelve years of his life had been the only ones worth living, that he wouldn’t be here without the Marauders, that he wouldn’t be here as a semi-functional human being, raising his godson after the death of his best friend without Remus. That he might never have gotten up the courage to leave Grimmauld Place if Remus hadn’t come back. Sirius didn’t know how to put the last twelve years into words.

Remus, reserved as he was, figured out a better way to do it. He kissed Sirius, going up on tiptoe to bring their faces closer together, hand sliding up into Sirius’ hair, his mouth sweet and parting against him. Sirius grabbed him around the waist, crushing their bodies together, kissing him back hungrily, desperately. His mouth was as warm as Sirius remembered it, and the skin of his lower back when Sirius’ hands fumbled up under his shirt was hot on his palms. Remus’ tongue pushed into his mouth briefly, everything hot and sweet and tasting like home. His hand tugged at Sirius’ hair and it sent a shiver all the way down Sirius’ spine.

Remus pulled back first, breathless, one hand still in Sirius’ hair. He put his other hand on Sirius’ cheek, tracing his jawline with his thumb.

“Holy ghosts, Black,” Remus said, and Sirius’ stomach tightened even though Remus didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know, why those words in this position made his intestines recoil. “You are so stupid.”

Sirius blinked. That was certainly different.

“So bloody stupid.” Remus slid his hands down to Sirius’ chest. Sirius thought he must be able to feel his heartbeat hammering too fast. “We could have had twelve years of this.”

“T-twelve years?” Sirius managed to say. His voice came out hoarse. “You liked me all that time?”

Remus shook his head. “I liked you from the moment I saw you up on the sorting stool, with your stupid, perfect hair and your stupid, beautiful face. And then you had to go and be so stupidly brave and clever.” Remus pushed on his chest. “And my roommate and my best mate. And so absolutely clueless.”

“Blimey, Remus, why didn’t you say anything?”

Remus laughed in a way that wasn’t entirely humorous, and tilted his face up to press his lips against Sirius throat, his neck, his ears. Sirius tightened his hands around Remus’ waist, heat blooming everywhere Remus’ mouth touched his skin. “Because,” he said between kisses, the words ghosting across his flesh. “You didn’t want a boyfriend, and I didn’t want…” he struggled for a moment with the words, settling back into Sirius’ arms and looking up at him again. “Less,” he finished.

Sirius swallowed hard. Remus, in his arms, finally. Remus, his cheeks flushed but that glint in his eye that he’d always had whenever he’d decided one of their madcap adventures was worth the trouble they’d get into. Remus, who was good and patient and knew him, who saw him, and wanted him anyway.

Sirius pushed his hands farther up the back of his shirt, feeling his spine, his ribs, the blades of his shoulders. Remus half-closed his eyes at his touch, one hand fisted in Sirius’ shirt, the other trailing down his chest to his stomach.

“Didn’t you know it’d be different, if it was you?” It was too close to tenderness. Sirius wanted very much to joke his way out of the thing between them, to lighten it, but he was afraid that if he did he would lose it completely, forever.

Remus’ hand stopped at his stomach, palm pressed flat. It was a weird place to be touched, and weirder to find that he liked everywhere Remus touched him. “After the way you treated Bones, I thought…”

Sirius winced, letting his hands drop back to Remus’ waist. “I made a mess of that. I know. I wish I’d had the backbone to apologize to him later, when we were in the Order, before… I know what an ass I was, and I… I’d take it all back if I could. He was sweet and I panicked. I made a lot of bad choices at school, Remus. I do know that, at least.”

“I didn’t want to risk you doing the same with me. I thought you must know how I felt about you, and that maybe someday you’d do something about it.”

Sirius ran his hand up Remus’ back to push it into his grey-brown hair, the way he’d always wanted to. “I think… I think I wasn’t ready. You meant too much and I knew that if we went there, I’d risk needing you. I was scared.”

Remus laughed, light and sincere this time, the lines on his face turning upward. “That’s what James said, you know. He asked me once when we were still at school if I fancied you, and then he told me not to give up on you, that you were just scared of falling in love.”

Sirius let his forehead fall against Remus’. It was hard to breathe again. His heart hadn’t stopped thudding since Remus’ lips had touched his. He thought he might live the rest of his life in this wonderful kind of panic.

“I am scared,” he mumbled.

“Me too,” Remus breathed, the words hardly audible even in the negligible space between them. And then he was kissing Sirius again, insistent, urgent, and Sirius felt Remus’ heartbeat through his palm, skipping as fast as his own.

Remus’ hand was up the front of his shirt, trailing along his line of of chest hair, his thumb brushing over his nipples. His other hand slid over Sirius’ back pocket, nails digging into the denim. And then he was lifting Sirius’ shirt, tugging it over his head, laughing a little when it caught and Sirius’ hair got pulled in every direction. Remus smoothed the hair back out of his face, still smiling, catching Sirius’ bottom lip in his teeth and making Sirius stifle a gasp when he bit down lightly.

Remus’ hands ran across his torso, chest and back, fingers brushing the outline of his muscles and his bones. Sirius didn’t think he dared to reciprocate, was too used to Remus pulling back from him to push. It was almost enough just to be touched.

After a few minutes, Remus made a frustrated little noise and pulled back to yank his own shirt off over his head. Sirius pressed his face into Remus’ newly bared shoulder, just where it met the base of his neck. He sucked the skin up between his teeth there and felt Remus shudder beneath his hands.

“Sirius,” he mumbled, tugging Sirius back by his hair and pressing their mouths together again. Sirius didn’t think he’d ever get tired of that feeling, the warmth and taste and Remus saying his name like that, for no other reason than to say it.

Remus’ hands went to Sirius’ belt loops, fingers hooking in them, and he pulled him back until they both fell on top of the bed. They rolled about a bit, kissing and gripping at each other until Sirius ended up on his back with Remus straddling him. Remus’ hands slid down to his trousers and started to undo his belt. Sirius grabbed his hand.

“Wait,” he managed, breathless. “Remus, shouldn’t we wait?”

“I did my waiting,” Remus said, pulling his belt clasp until it popped free and undoing the button of his jeans. “Twelve years of it.” He leaned forward and kissed Sirius again and, good Godric, it was better than Shacklebolt, better than anything. “In absolute agony, waiting for you to grow up.”

Sirius laughed. “You might still have some waiting to do yet on that front.”

Remus’ hand slipped over the front of Sirius’ jeans, tracing the outline of his noticeable bulge, his fingers light against the fabric. “Do you want to wait?” he asked, in a quieter voice.

Sirius hesitated a fraction of a second, asking himself for the first time, really, if he might. He shook his head, tugging Remus back down to him. Remus slid his hand under the waistband of his trousers and pants and Sirius mumbled something he didn’t even recognize as language against his mouth.

Shucking off the rest of their clothes was a little awkward, but Sirius managed to kick his feet free of his jeans and then boxers eventually, Remus sliding out of his pyjamas and pants with slightly more ease. Remus straddled him again, their bare flesh touching in new places, groins pressed against each other and Sirius couldn’t help arching his hips against him.

“Wait,” Sirius said again, pushing himself into a sitting position with hands still on Remus’ ass so that he fell into his lap. “Just… I just want to look at you, please. I just want to touch you.”

Remus’ blush hadn’t fully faded. He grinned down at Sirius, still above him as he rested on his knees. Sirius’ cock was sliding against Remus’ crotch and he didn’t know if he could stand that particular sensation for much longer. He’d seen Remus naked before, of course. Even held him naked. It had never been anything close to this.

Sirius ran his hands up Remus’ chest, then his mouth, kissing his way up what he could reach of the happy trail on his stomach, up to his twin crescent scars. He paused, his fingers hovering over them, not quite touching.

“Is this okay?” he asked. Remus was looking down at him, watching him with his fingers tangled in his hair. He nodded, a softness in his eyes. Sirius ran his fingers along the scars on his chest, thicker and more pink than all of the marks he’d given himself. “Can you feel anything here?”

In keeping with the same traditions that made homosexuality so taboo among witches and wizards, the concept of being trans in the wizarding world was so foreign that most adult wizards didn’t even know the word. Sirius had thought, when Remus first told him, that there would be transfiguration spells for that. After all, if Sirius could turn himself into a dog, surely switching in human form would not be so difficult. But while there had been a few papers written on the subject, no one had yet invented a spell that would allow someone that change in a way that kept their body their own. There was a glamor - which was how Remus had managed to shift in front of them without Peter and James noticing anything, but that was an illusion spell. There was polyjuice potion, but that meant turning into someone else. It was probable that the right spell or potion was out there, but as far as they knew, no one had discovered it yet.

In the muggle world, there was at least the horrifying concept of surgery, which Remus had had the summer after third year. He’d come back to Hogwarts a little stiff, but holding his shoulders straight as if he had lost a giant weight off of them.

Remus shrugged. It moved his whole body and Sirius’ cock twitched at the friction as it slid further along his crotch. “Not really. It’s mostly numb, but I can feel pressure. So I can feel you touch it, but it doesn’t feel like anything, no texture, no heat.”

“What about here?” Sirius rubbed his thumbs up the smaller mirrored scars vertical from the crescent lines on his chest that connected with his pink nipples. He felt Remus twitch as his thumbs brushed across them.

“A little. Partial sensation. I - mmph.” He broke off as Sirius’ mouth followed his fingers up along the scars and then to his nipples, alternatively rolling them between his tongue and fingers. When Sirius looked up at him again, Remus’ head was tilted back, fingers curled into Sirius’ hair. Sirius kissed his way up the rest of Remus’ chest, kissing every scar he could see in the light, until he could reach Remus’ throat. He bit him lightly there, and was rewarded by Remus’ grinding his hips down into Sirius lap.

“Remus,” Sirius said into his neck. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You’re doing fine,” Remus said with a little breathless laugh.

“What words do you use, for, uh, you know, your body?”

Remus laughed again and pulled Sirius away from his neck to kiss him. “You did some reading about this, didn’t you?”

Sirius could feel the heat in his face, but it was everywhere in his body at this point. “Uh, a little. In sixth year, you know.”

Remus touched him with unbearable softness, stroking down his jawline again with one finger. “I appreciate that,” he said. “And I’ve never been that bothered by language. Junk, I suppose. Cock. Front. Anal.” He listed the words so calmly, and Sirius had no idea how when each one made him throb harder.

“Um, which do you… I mean… uh.” Sirius buried his face in Remus’ slightly sweaty chest. He smelled like he always did, like safety. “Do you know what you like?”

“I like you,” Remus said. Sirius could hear his smile.

Sirius pulled back to look at him again. “Have you done this before?” he asked, nervous about either answer.

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Just once.”

“Really?” Sirius tamped down every jealous thought suddenly flooding his brain. “You never told me.”

“Well, I was a little angry at you at the time for snogging half the castle and not me.” Remus was still smiling. His mustache really had grown in fully this time around and it suited him. Remus was maybe too tired and pale, with his premature grey hair and wrinkles, to be entirely handsome, but Sirius didn’t think he’d met anyone more attractive.

“So it was at Hogwarts? Who was it?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Remus said, in a way that made Sirius think he had, in fact, been dying to tell him for quite some time. “You’re just going to be weird about it.”

“Ah, come on. You know everyone that I’ve been with, it’s only fair.”

Remus heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Alright. If you must know, it was Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

Sirius’ jaw dropped. “ _What?_ ”

“It was the beginning of sixth year,” Remus said quickly. “So I was over the age of consent and everything. I’d written to him because I’d heard he’d started auror training and, well, I never thought they’d let me in, but I was interested. I asked him about it and then we sort of started just corresponding and eventually he wrote to tell me he was going to be in Hogsmeade one weekend for work and…” Remus’ face was pinker than ever. “And I sort of thought, “Well, why not?” so…”

“I can’t believe you had sex with _Kingsley_. I honestly don’t know if I’m more jealous or turned on.”

“Please don’t be either. It was just a one time thing. We both wanted to do it, so we did. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Was it a big deal, though?” Sirius grinned. “I mean, how was it?”

“Merlin, Sirius. It was fine. I’m not going to tell you the details.”

Sirius shook his head, still grinning. “Well, I’ll be damned. Kingsley Shag-a-bloke actually lived up to his name.”

Remus mock-scowled at him at that and pushed him back down onto the bed. “He knew you called him that, you know.” Remus’ fingertips trailed along his collarbone before he caught Sirius right nipple between index and forefinger and squeezed. Sirius arched his back involuntarily, held down by Remus’ legs on either side of his hips. “Do you really want to talk about Kingsley Shacklebolt right now?”

“No, sir,” Sirius mumbled, running his own hands up the top of Remus’ thighs. He wanted to touch him everywhere.

Remus laughed, at the “sir” probably, and kissed him hard again. He put one hand between both their legs , wrapping it around Sirius. He stroked him, dragging the head of his cock along the folds of his crotch, Sirius feeling the warmth and wetness on just his tip. Remus let go to cup him at the balls, squeezing gently and Sirius let out a whine like a dog. Remus’ hand left him, pressing both of his palms flat against his chest, holding him down against the mattress while he slid his hips slowly over him.

“Fuck, Remus, please.”

Remus was still smiling down at him, impossibly beautiful in his position over Sirius, whose own fingers were digging in to the v-shaped dent of his hip bones. “I always knew if we ever got here that I was going to make you beg for it.”

Remus’ words sent a shiver all the way down Sirius chest to his cock and he whimpered.

“Please, Remus, whatever you want. However you want me.” He didn’t care that his voice broke. He couldn’t think straight any longer and he had the horrible fear that if they didn’t do this now, after so long of waiting and wanting, the chance would never come again.

Remus wrapped his hand around him again, stroking slow, held him while he pressed his hips down and the head of Sirius’ cock popped inside him. Sirius let go of one hip to grab the sheets in his hand, curling them in his fist to keep himself from moving further without permission. He was glad Remus had taken control of the situation, because he was so tight that Sirius was afraid to thrust for fear of hurting him. Remus held himself still for a moment before pushing his hips down again to meet Sirius’, sliding Sirius all the way up into him with a slight gasp.

They were both still, Remus’ hands back on his chest, Sirius’ head exploding with the feeling of warmth and wetness wrapped so tight around his cock. It was so pleasurable it was painful.

“Blessed Merlin’s Beard, Remus,” he gasped. “You’re… Godric. I…” He couldn’t string together a sentence. He reached up, touching every part of Remus he could reach, his chest, his stomach, his hips, his thighs. The sight of Remus pressed against him, the base of his cock disappearing up into him made him throb and it was all he could do not to thrust his hips wildly trying to get even deeper, even closer.

Remus’ cock was longer than he would have thought - he’d pointedly never looked before - and he ran his thumb over it, eliciting an indecipherable sound from Remus. He peeled back the hood with his forefinger, stroking with his thumb, amazed at how similar their physiology was, after all.

Remus rocked his hips and Sirius thought his eyes were going to roll back in his head. Nothing had ever been this warm or this good.

“You are so beautiful,” Sirius mumbled, not entirely sure what he was saying as Remus moved his hips up and down, working him in so deep and so so warm. “Such a beautiful man.”

“Sirius,” Remus said, his voice nearly as broken. “For once in your life, shut up and fuck me.”

Sirius did.

Sirius cried after, for reasons he didn’t fully understand. Remus held him, Sirius’ face pressed against his chest, wrapped in his arms and his warmth, trying to stop the tears from dripping down his nose into Remus’ chest hair.

“You’re okay,” Remus said over and over again. “You’re okay. You did good.”

That helped, somehow. Sirius held him around the stomach tightly. He was pretty sure he was never going to let go of Remus ever again, not now that he had him like this. He was finally close enough, close enough to smell and taste and keep safe. Sirius liked feeling Remus’ stomach rise and fall beneath his arm. He liked that he could hear his heartbeat where his ear was pressed against his chest. He liked the way the brown skin of his arm looked against Remus’ pale white torso. He liked Remus stroking his hair, holding him. He liked knowing that he’d been inside him, that something of him was still inside Remus. The thought was nearly enough to make him hard all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Remus’ chest. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“It’s a release. It’s normal.” Remus kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay.”

“You’re so good,” he mumbled. “So perfect.”

He felt warm and sleepy and safe. He hadn’t realized until that moment, but it was the first time he’d felt safe since… Well, since before James had died. The last time he had felt safe had been in James’ arms. It was something he’d never thought about before. He couldn’t believe that this was allowed, that he got to hold Remus like this and that Remus wanted to hold him.

“Hardly.” Remus had the same sleepy quality in his own voice. “Your bar is too low.”

“No.” Sirius’ tears had stopped. He nuzzled his face into Remus’ chest. “Perfect. Gorgeous. Luminescent. Pulchritudinous.”

Remus laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes.”

“It’s comforting that some things don’t change.”

“Remus?”

“Hm?”

“Do you still want a boyfriend?”

Remus didn’t reply right away, but his hand was still stroking Sirius hair. “Not exactly,” he said at last. “I don’t want to date you.”

Sirius’ whole body tensed, an icy sensation flooding over his skin. He started to pull away from Remus, but Remus grabbed his arm with the hand not stuck in his hair.

“No, Sirius, I’m sorry, I just mean… I feel like we’ve been together for years. We’ve already been sleeping in the same bed, living together, raising a child together. We’re practically an old married couple.” He laughed a little shakily. “I don’t want the same things from you that I wanted as a teenager. Well, not all the same things anyway. Dating and boyfriends and all of that just feels like trying to start back at the beginning. I think we’re past that. I don’t think we can go back to that. But I do… I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I don’t know what to call it, but I’m not sure “boyfriend” is it anymore.”

Sirius settled back against his chest and closed his eyes. “I don’t care what we call it each other, but you’ve got me. And you’re mine now, I hope you know.” He wrapped his arm around Remus’ waist, squeezing him.

“Oh, am I?” Remus sounded amused.

“Yes.” Sirius squeezed him tighter, as hard as he could. “ _Mine_. My Remus.”

“Oh alright then,” Remus said. Sirius could hear his smile again, and he thought that his heart might implode from everything he was feeling. “Yours.”


	19. 1982

## September 1st, 1982 - London and Thereabouts

Sirius fell asleep easily in his drowsy state, but woke early in a clarity of panic that he had been dreaming. He woke with Remus wrapped in his arms, fitted against him, breathing soft and slow. Sirius could feel their bare skin touching in all sorts of unlikely places. 

Remus, in his arms, finally. 

The sound of Harry fussing from the other room grew louder, and Sirius realized what must have pulled him from sleep. Remus stirred beside him as Sirius hastened to slip out from under the covers. 

“I've got it,” Sirius whispered, his voice coming out low and rough. “You stay and sleep.” 

“Mhm,” Remus mumbled and buried his face deeper into his pillow. 

Harry was standing up in his cot and his face broke into a smile the moment he saw Sirius. 

“Morning, lad!” Sirius said, lifting Harry and swinging him up in the air. Harry grabbed at Sirius’ hair, giggling as he spun them. When they went downstairs into the kitchen it was to find the table set with pots of both tea and coffee, toast, eggs, and bacon still sizzling on the plate. Kreacher was nowhere to be seen - in fact, now that he had taken something of a liking to the household, he was much less visible, which Sirius could not help but be grateful for. He had done his best to be kind to Kreacher, or at the very least not display outright hostility toward the house-elf, but he could never entirely disconnect Kreacher from his worst memories in this house. 

Harry sat in Sirius’ lap, eating bacon off his plate, while Sirius drank a cup of black coffee, his stomach too queasy for food. 

He was thinking about his very first week at Hogwarts, twelve years ago this week. He’d had his first transfiguration lesson twelve years ago today. McGonagall had turned into a cat in front of their eyes and James had leaned over to Sirius and whispered “How long do you think it takes to learn how to do that?” with wonder in his eleven-year-old voice. 

The four Gryffindor boys had stuck together all day and by lunch James had already given them all nicknames. The castle had never lost its impressive stature or the sense that something extraordinary was about to happen, but that first week it had seemed, well, magical. Even for James, Sirius, and Peter, who had all come from pureblood wizarding families, the whole thing had been overwhelming. Remus had looked positively enchanted with each and every discovery they made about the castle, their classes, and each other. Remus’ father had homeschooled Remus in spell theory and wizarding history more thoroughly than the rest of their parents, as he had not expected his son to be able to attend a proper wizarding school. As such he’d dazzled their teachers from the start with his academic abilities, but had been clearly overwhelmed by the differences between the muggle and wizarding worlds. 

Sirius had never before been allowed to do whatever he liked with his hair, eat whatever he felt like at meals, or talked to whom he pleased without fear of the consequences. He’d never had someone as mischievous as he was to plot with, and he and James egged each other on to reckless heights. He’d had eleven years of that, he told himself, running a hand absently through Harry’s curls. That was more than most people got. 

Remus emerged from the hall looking a little blurry-eyed and sheepish. He’d put on dark blue jeans and a loose grey sweater. He looked soft. It was unbearable. 

For a moment, as the heat rushed into Sirius’ face, he wondered if they were going to be able to look each other in the eye, if they’d be able to carry on after last night. He could imagine very clearly the scenario in which they didn’t talk about it, in which it was the culmination of years of wanting each other, of grief, of the desperate need of bodily warmth. He could imagine leaving it at that, withdrawing, settling into a world in which he no longer touched Remus at all because touching him would only remind him of that night, of Remus gasping and tensing around him while his nails dug hard into Sirius’ shoulders and Sirius’ hands gripped his hips with the overwhelming need to always be closer and closer and closer. He could imagine that. 

Sirius gently deposited Harry onto the bench. His eyes came just level to the table, but he gripped the edge with one small hand and continued to pull bacon off the plate with greasy fingers as Sirius got up and walked around the table. Remus met him halfway, looking flushed and uncertain. Sirius pulled him roughly into his arms and kissed his forehead, his cheek, his jaw, his neck. There was a spotted purple bruise forming there where Sirius had not been careful with his teeth last night and he kissed it lightly, trailing his mouth across Remus’ skin, gripping his sweater in his hands, trying to convey something of the unbearable weight in his chest at the thought of losing this again. 

Remus laughed, but his arms had gone around Sirius too and he rested his head in the crook of Sirius’ neck, his hands rubbing up and down his back. 

“Good morning to you too, dear,” he said. 

“Mornin’,” Sirius mumbled against his neck. He slipped his hand into Remus’s hair and pulled back a bit to kiss him on the mouth. Because he could. Because it was daylight and they were both awake and sober and Remus was still in his arms, his mouth still meeting Sirius’, still leaning into him. 

“Sirius,” Remus said, his cheeks pink but with a smile still on his face. “Not in front of the kid.” 

Sirius glanced back over his shoulder at Harry, who was now mushing potatoes against the plate rather than eating them, and seemed blithely unaware that there was any difference in his caregivers’ attitudes this morning. 

“Well,” Sirius said, reluctantly letting go of Remus’ waist but immediately taking his hand instead. “We’re not going to hide it from him, are we?” 

Remus shrugged. “As long as we don’t make out in front of him, I’m not sure he’ll notice a difference. Not sure there is another a difference considering how little personal space you have anyway.” 

Sirius kissed him on the cheek again. There was still that  _ chocolate-wolf-home _ smell to his skin, but Sirius could smell himself on Remus too and that made something in his chest actually flutter, like he was a damn teenager. “Course there’s a difference. I get to tell you how adorable you are as much as I like now.” 

Remus leaned into him. “I should have known if you ever got over yourself and we got together that you’d be such a great sap about it.”

Sirius kissed him on the nose. 

It was raining, but Sirius felt much too exuberant to stay still, and since taking Remus back to bed wasn’t really an option while Harry was awake, Sirius suggested they take Harry out to the National Gallery in Trafalgar square. Sirius didn’t actually much care for muggle art, but Lily and Remus had always been trying to get him and James to understand it, so Remus was quite keen on the idea. They walked through the halls, Sirius alternately holding Harry’s hand and picking him up so he could look at the artwork more closely. The painting collections were free so they wandered about without a guide while Remus went on and on about Caravaggio. 

“Of course, I’ve always had a certain attachment to the Baroque period,” Remus said as Sirius squinted at the unmoving Rembrandt portraits. He kept expecting one of them to wake up and wink at him. Harry was perched on his shoulders and Sirius kept both hands about his chubby little legs to makes sure he didn’t fall as his head was starting to nod into Sirius’ hair with sleepiness. 

“The dramatic lighting, the contrast of the era with its renaissance predecessors and how you can see almost a direct line between some of the Baroque’s more emotional work and previous artists. Art is a response not just to the times but to what came before it.” 

“Uh-huh,” Sirius said. He liked Remus like this, scholarly and passionate. He couldn’t stop staring at him, his heart bursting everytime Remus caught his eye and smiled, or touched the back of his hand to get his attention.

“But my favorite, well, you can probably guess why…” Remus stopped in front of a painting, looking up at with his face settling into something darker than it had been all day, storm clouds in his blue-grey eyes. 

Sirius looked at the paining too, not expecting to get it. He could appreciate the talent that went into art, could enjoy them to an extent, but painting never really evoked anything in him. 

The Rubens hanging on the wall in front of them was shadow and light, the brightest point of the painting illuminating two baby boys wrapped protectively in a wolf’s embrace. The plaque beneath it read “ _ Romulus and Remus _ ”. *

“My mother had a great book of muggle art, and there was a print of this one,” Remus said. He sounded far off. “I remember seeing it for the first time when I was seven. She told me the story of Romulus and Remus, and I knew then that it was going to be my name.” 

“Why Remus and not Romulus?” Sirius asked. He’d wondered about it before. “Romulus is the one who goes on to be the founder of Rome, isn’t he?” 

“Yes.” Remus was still looking at the painting with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets. “But he’s also the one who killed his brother. “And I very much did not want to kill anyone.” 

By the time they left the museum and went to buy an ice cream from a parlour nearby, Harry had fallen asleep in Sirius’ arms with his head resting on Sirius’ shoulder. They sat at the outdoor table, eating 99s while the rain dripped off the patio covering and Harry drooled onto his godfather’s jacket. 

“Sirius,” Remus started after a moment of quietly eating their ice creams. He paused just long enough for Sirius to feel his heart skip uncomfortably. “Should we… talk about last night?” 

“I thought we did talk about it.” 

“Yes, well, I mean… We’ve got Harry to think about, not to mention twelve years of friendship. I think we ought to… sort of, you know, use our words.” Remus’ cheeks really were such a reliable giveaway to his emotional state. “I mean, I spent a long time agonizing over you and it’s all very well not to give ourselves a label, but I do think we… I don’t want us to go on misunderstanding one another any longer.” 

“I’m not terribly good at this, Moony. You know that. But tell me what’s bothering you and I’ll try.” 

Remus sighed. “It’s not bothering me exactly, but, well… For a long time I thought you were in love with James.” 

Sirius looked at Harry, still fast asleep on his shoulder. A tiny, perfect version of his best friend, his semi-platonic soulmate, his brother. 

“I suppose I was, a bit,” Sirius said slowly. “I mean, I dunno if I was  _ in love _ with him, exactly. I’d never had anyone like James in my life, and I never thought about him like that, but I suppose if he’d ever wanted me that way I would have gone with it because I would have accepted whatever sort of attention he was willing to give me. It was like… I loved him without any sort of perimeter. Maybe I just didn’t know how to love someone, how to tell the difference between familial or friend or romantic love. Does that make any sense?” 

Remus nodded. He’d finished his ice cream and he sucked a drop off his thumb in a way that made Sirius sorry they weren’t back alone at Grimmauld Place. 

“I’m not trying to replace him,” Sirius said quietly. “You were always something else to me, I just… I dunno. I was a little scared of you.” 

Remus smiled down at his hands, turning them in his lap. “A big strong Gryffindor like you, frightened of little old me… You are something else.” 

Sirius tossed his crumpled up napkin across the table and it hit Remus in the face. “Come on then. What else?” For he could see that there was still something a little sad in Remus’ eyes. 

Remus took a deep breath and raised his face again to look him in the eye. “I always thought maybe a part of why we never got together at school because it bothered you that I’m… that I’d transitioned. It was why I told you in the first place, you know. I needed to tell someone, but mostly I was afraid that if you ever did notice me, you’d be freaked out by having been attracted to someone who, well…” Remus trailed off, waving his hand vaguely. 

Sirius shifted Harry carefully so that he could support him with his other arm, shaking out the one that had been holding him. He was fairly certain that this was the moment he was going to mess everything up. There was just no way around it. 

“Okay. I’m not going to lie to you, but please remember I was an idiot, alright? Just remember that this is the same boy who thought it would be a good idea to try and make our own wands for fun. And you’ll remember the distinct lack of eyebrows that accompanied that particular stroke of brilliance. It did freak me out a bit. I was afraid that maybe… I don’t know, that maybe I’d do or say the wrong thing. That somehow me liking boys and girls might make you think I didn’t see you as just a boy or something. I was afraid that maybe if we had gone far enough that I wouldn’t see you as just a boy anymore. I know that’s not fair or okay now, but… I was sixteen. I was stupid.” 

“I see.” 

Sirius couldn’t read Remus’ expression anymore. His face was closed off now, guarded. 

Sirius reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m sorry, Remus. I’m sorry about everything.” 

Remus rubbed his face with his free hand and when he opened his eyes again his smile had returned. “It wasn’t just you. I could have talked to you then. I could have said something too. I was afraid of you a bit as well.” 

The friction in the room after Sirius returned from putting Harry to bed was palpable. Remus had a book open in bed, but Sirius could tell he wasn’t reading it. Sirius stripped down to just his boxers and climbed in under the covers, wrapping himself around Remus the way he always wanted to, a leg over his, an arm over his stomach, his face pressed into his chest. Remus sighed and put the book away on the bedside table. He slid down in the bed to meet Sirius who unbuttoned his pyjama top the second their mouths met and felt him grin against their kiss. 

It was slower and more deliberate than the night before. Sirius rolled on top of Remus and kissed every inch of his skin, every scar he could see, making him turn over beneath him so that he could kiss down his shoulders and back. When they were chest to chest again, Sirius trailed his fingers along the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. 

“Can I?” he whispered, as breathless as the night before, half in disbelief that Remus was touching him, kissing him, looking at him with that obvious desire in his eyes. Remus nodded and seconds later Sirius was stroking him and Remus was arching his back with little muffled noises that were half pleasure, half plea. 

Sirius kissed down his chest, stopping with his lips just at the base of his stomach. “Is this okay?” he whispered. Remus’ hands were in his hair, pulling just a little. It made everything down Sirius’ whole body tingle. 

“If you want to,” Remus mumbled. “You don’t have to…” He cut off with an abrupt moan as Sirius took him in his mouth, his hips rising up to meet him. 

Sirius could not help thinking that as much Remus’ day-to-day scent reminded him of home, the taste of him was even better. 

In the afterglow, when Remus was holding him again (Sirius had managed not to cry this time, although it was a near thing), Sirius could barely keep his eyes open. 

“Can we keep doing this?” he mumbled into Remus’ chest. “Preferably every day until we die?”

He could feel Remus’ soft chuckle against the side of his face. “It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

## October 31st, 1982 - Godric’s Hollow

The sun shone down through a parting in the clouds, bathing the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow in bright, warm light. It was cold out and Sirius’ boots made a loud crunching noise as he waded through the leaves. The monument that had gone up in the town square had been difficult enough. The graves were harder to bear. 

Dumbledore had arranged it. Remus had told him, nearly a year ago, that he’d sent Hagrid back to the ruins of the Potter house to pull Lily and James’ bodies from the rubble. He’d made sure they were buried in the family plot, just gravestones away from the Peverells who had been rumored to be their distant relations. They hadn’t held a proper funeral, but on the night after they were buried, red sparks had gone up all over England. The muggles must have thought some strange meteor shower was happening. 

It was not difficult to find the graves. Witches and wizards had left notes and gifts, flowers that bloomed only around their headstone and nowhere else. Sirius stood looking down at it in silence for a long time.  _ Lily Evans-Potter. James Potter. _

Remus’s hand found his. “Do you want some time?” 

Sirius looked over at Remus, at the claw marks on his face standing out in the direct sunlight. It had been nearly two months of this, at marveling in all the ways Remus touched him now. Remus was holding Harry, who looked about him with innocent interest. Sirius hadn’t been sure about bringing Harry. He thought that it might be too much, or that there might be other people there on the anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat, but in the end he and Remus both felt that he should come. 

Sirius nodded. 

Remus squeezed his hand and let go. “I’ll walk Harry around the square and come back for you. We’ll go to the house together.” 

Sirius nodded again and Remus left him, taking Harry out of the graveyard and back out the gate, past the church. Sirius waited until they were out of sight before he knelt in the patchy grass. The leaves had been cleared away in front of the Potter’s grave. 

Sirius touched his fingertips to Lily’s name first. It was cold beneath his skin. Lily, in all her glory, green eyes glinting in the heat of battle, red hair flying. Lily, dead on her son’s nursery floor. Lily, her voice hitching when she’d asked him to take care of her son when she was gone, to love him. 

“I do,” Sirius whispered to the stone. “As does Remus. He’s so loved, Lily. He’s got a family. He always will.” He pressed his fingertips hard against the stone, trying to feel something of the girl who’d become part of his own family. “I’ll keep your love alive. I promise.” 

He let his fingers fall from the grave and turned to rest his forehead on the space above James’ name. “Ah Prongs,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “What am I gonna do without you, mate?” 

He was silent for a long time, not sure if he could speak. “Yeah,” he said finally, nodding his head against the stone as if in answer. “Grow up, I suppose. I wish you were here. I’d give it’ll all up to have you back. Even everything with Remus. I wish you were here for that too. Wish I’d figured my shit out sooner, so I could’ve told you about it. Well. I know what you’d say. Sex is good, by the way. Really good. And we are too, I think. He’s the same old Moony and I’m… well, I’d say I’m the same, but I’m not, am I? I’m trying not to be. 

“Harry calls me daddy now, and I don’t know if you’d think that’s funny or if it would tear you apart. Maybe both. I’m trying. I’m trying to be everything for him that you would have been. I know I can’t be you, but, I’m giving him everything I have. 

“People always think he’s my son, anyway. Every time they do I think about you telling Peter he was racist, our first night at Hogwarts. I think about Hogwarts a lot, actually. And you, of course. I think about everything we went through. And some of the things I didn’t tell you about going through. I wish I had, mate. You always knew how to handle me. 

“I’m worried I’m going to screw this thing with Remus up. I’m worried I’m going to screw your kid up. I mean, I’m raising him in a house with dead servants’ heads mounted on the wall. That’s not the way we were hoping he’d grow up.” 

For a moment, as the wind lifted some of his hair from its messy bun at the top of his head and the sun beat down on his exposed neck, Sirius felt as if he were fifteen again. He remembered, suddenly, a week before the full moon in October of their fifth year, when he, James and Peter had gone out to practice their strategy for transformation. They’d been running through the forbidden forest when Sirius’ leg had caught on something and he’d hurtled down a rocky slope into a deep ravine. James had come hurtling down after him, feet sending a small avalanche of stones down the side of the ravine as he scrambled back in human form to reach to Sirius. 

By the time James had reached the bottom, Sirius was already kneeling on human knees, holding his broken wrist to his chest and swearing in particularly foul-mouthed French. 

“Oh thank Godric and all the founders,” James had muttered and tapped his wand gently against Sirius’ wrist to heal it. When Sirius shook it out experimentally and it was clear that nothing else was broken, James had grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him forward, banging their heads together. 

Foreheads touching, James had said in a deliberately calm voice “If you scare me like that again, Padfoot, I will hex you into next week.” 

Sirius had transformed into a dog and licked his face from chin to forehead. 

Sirius smiled now, forehead against the headstone. He could almost feel James there, could imagine his jet black curls in the breeze. 

“You and I made it through Hogwarts without burning the place down. You’re right. He’ll be okay. He’ll live.” Sirius imagined James’ small, sad smile. His dark eyes behind his round spectacles. His arms wrapped around his son, the boy who looked just like him, the only known person to have survived a killing curse, the boy who lived. “He’ll live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This has been a lot of fun to write. Please leave a comment and let me know if you've enjoyed it so far/if I'm as funny as I think I am (I cackled for a solid five minutes to myself about the Shacklebolt/Shag-a-bloke thing).
> 
> This fic is going on hiatus for a bit as I work on my actual novel/hang out with my actual nephew. I expect to be back to updating in February or March! 
> 
> (*this painting is not actually in the National Gallery in London)


	20. Snapshots 1982-1983

## Snapshots, November 1982 - January 1983

Sirius pushed his nose into the fabric of Remus’ shirt, rumpled as it was from Sirius nuzzling into his chest, and inhaled the deep satiating smell of him. Sirius was curled up on the couch between Remus’ legs, his arms wrapped around him, face buried in the warmth of his chest, while Remus held a book in one hand and stroked his hair with the other.

Sirius could not believe that he got to have this.

Harry was entertaining himself on the floor, tuckered out from their earlier hike, babbling softly to himself as he dragged his toy ostrich across the floor by its neck.

Remus read aloud somewhat absentmindedly, forgetting to speak when he became too engrossed in a page. Harry liked to listen to them read, which might also have explained the rare moment of calm. Sirius liked listening to Remus too.

“...Of Gamp’s Law. Which of course holds true only under those circumstances in which definition aligns itself with practicality. Debate continues as to whether intention is enough to disrupt the principles Gamp so neatly laid out. For example, all parts of the pine tree are edible, but the inadvisability of consumption seems to meet the limitations of the law as the author has just charmed three pine cones into existence with the express interest of consumption…”

Sirius was not listening to the words. The cadence of Remus’ voice, the thrum of it where Sirius’ ear was pressed against his chest, built up something unbearably warm and tender in him.

“Moony?” Sirius interrupted as Remus stopped stroking his hair in order to turn the page.

“Hm?” Remus sounded far away, lost in his magical theory.

“I love you.”

Sirius did not raise his head to say it. In fact he closed his eyes, pressing his face further into Remus’ chest. He felt the change in Remus’ heartbeat there, mimicking his own.

Remus’ hand returned, stilled, to the top of his head. Sirius thought he could feel a tremor running through it.

“And I love you, Padfoot.”

Sirius tightened his arms around his best friend, his partner, his co-parent, his lover. “Keep reading,” he said.

And Remus did.

***

Sirius kept his face buried in the pillow, feeling his own hot breath trapped between his mouth and the fabric as he panted. Remus flopped down next to him with a moan, one arm and leg thrown over him. There was sweat pooling on Sirius’ lower back, and a deep and pleasant ache that seemed to be both physical and emotional. He wanted very much to tell Remus how incredible he was, that sweet galloping gargoyles, nothing had ever felt like that before, but his entire vocabulary seemed to have been fucked right out of his head.

***

The snow fell hard that winter and Harry loved nothing more than to go to the park and romp through the white powder over the small field. A couple of times Sirius went with him and Remus in dog form so that he could run and roll around with Harry. Harry shrieking with glee and smashing snowballs into his fur while Remus laughed in the background filled his heart so much it hurt.

Christmas tea seemed destined to be an annual tradition and Sirius had to admit that he rather enjoyed filling his parents’ old house with exactly the sort of people Walberga and Orion would have been horrified to find their eldest son associating with. The Longbottoms stayed for several hours this time around and by the time Augusta rose to leave, Harry and Neville had chased each other into exhaustion and were curled up together asleep in front of the hearth. Augusta picked her grandson up in her arms, surprising Sirius with the strength of her deceptively frail-looking arms. As Neville’s straight black hair fell back from his round face, Sirius felt a pang of grief and sadness so acute it nearly bowled him over. These flashes came less and less, but as strong as ever.

Sirius was not proud of his thoughts as he showed Augusta and her sleeping grandson to the door and watched her disapparate outside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Seeing the smooth, pale skin of Neville’s forehead had made him wonder, as he tried so hard not to do, what might have happened if Voldemort had not been so sure that it was the Potters, that it was Harry, who would grow to be his greatest foe. The thought of another lifetime, another Christmas in another place, with an unmarked Harry and a beaming James, a laughing Lily… 

“Sirius?” Remus whispered his name in the hall when he came to look for him. Sirius had temporarily switched the charm over his mother’s portrait to play a more seasonable “Ten Witches of Christmas Morn’”, but it had already been a very long, loud day.

Sirius still stood looking out the thin window beside the door. It was only late afternoon and the sun was shining in golden shafts across the snow-topped hedges that bordered Number 7.

“Sirius?” Remus said again, touching his arm.

Sirius shook his head and tried to turn away, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice work through the tears.

“Oh lad.” Remus wrapped his arms around him, pulling Sirius into him. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

***

 _“_ Crucio _!”_

_It was pain like nothing else in the world, like knife twisting in his stomach, stabbing inside and out, radiating up his veins, piercing, his muscles bunching uncontrollably against the onslaught. Just when he thought he would go mad, there was a breath. The screaming that he had not realized was coming from his own mouth cut off abruptly. He could still feel it in his skin, a pain so acute there was no comparing it. He tried to push himself onto his knees with shaking hands, but -_

_“_ Crucio _!”_

_He was screaming again, writhing, the knife in his gut twisting and slicing and piercing his organs. All of his nerves were on the outside of his body being flayed raw. He’d been hit and sliced and broken before, but this was pure pain. He could feel it in his spine, his skin, his intestines. It went on and on and on._

_When the wand lifted the next time, he could not even lift his torso off the floor. Every inch of him was shaking. He spat blood onto the carpet where he’d bitten his tongue. He wanted to get up, to fight, to run, anything, but his limbs were so weak and it hurt so much._

_“That’s enough.” His father’s voice from somewhere in the empty whiteness drowning his vision. “He’s had enough, Walberga.”_

_“_ Crucio _!”_

_It was pain beyond pain. When the wand lifted next, the lap of Sirius’ jeans were wet and warm. He’d lost all muscle control in the spasms of the curse._

_“The little mongrel dares to bring his stains of dishonor into our noble house. The buggering filth. The shame of my blood._ Crucio _!”_

_“For Salazar’s sake, Walberga, you’re going to kill the boy.”_

“Sirius. Sirius! Wake up. Come on now, wake up.”

The screaming stopped abruptly. Sirius’s mouth felt thick with sleep but his throat was tickling and raw. He coughed, clutching at his stomach with one hand for the phantom knife that had never been. For a moment he still felt the way his nerves had seemed to exist on the outside of his skin, flayed open all over his body, pulsing in tandem shoots of indescribable pain. He had a sudden pang of shame and fear that he had wet the bed, but the sheets beneath him were clean and dry.

Remus was sitting up behind him, one hand on his shoulder, one stroking his hair back from his sweaty forehead.

“Alright, lad. You’re alright.”

Sirius was clammy all over. He’d twisted out of the bedclothes somehow and the cold air stung against his sweaty skin. From the other room, Harry started to cry, having been woken by the noise.

“Go check on Harry, please. Go check on him.”

“Sirius, love…” Remus’ hands were reassuring and firm on him and Sirius didn’t want him to go because it was him who’d called him back from the precipice of that nightmare and Sirius was afraid that without him he would slip back under. But Harry’s cries cut through everything else and the thought that he was alone and afraid in the dark made Sirius want to scream again.

“Please. Please. Just check on him. Just… please.”

With a creak of the old bed springs, Remus got up and went out into the hall. Sirius could hear him murmuring to Harry, Harry’s cries changing as Remus picked him up and rocked him, talking slow and soft until the crying stopped.

Sirius buried his face in his now slightly-damp pillow. He didn’t have nightmares nearly as often now that he and Remus shared a bed, but that one in particular always came up in rotation over the years. It had been that virtually since the event itself had occurred.

The summer that Sirius went to live with the Potters, he’d been woken from a nap on the couch one afternoon by Euphemia Potter’s gentle hands. Sirius had known immediately that he must have been screaming in his sleep again. James and his father had gone out into the backwoods to practice flying around obstacles, and Sirius had curled up on the couch in the sunny drawing room like a cat, content to shut his eyes and feel the warmth on his skin. He could not have slept very long because long rays of sunlight were still falling over of the couch, only partially blocked by Euphemia Potter’s shadow.

James’ mother had darker skin than her husband and son, a graceful and plump figure, and the kindest eyes of any woman Sirius had ever known. She and Fleamont were much older than Sirius’ own parents, and Sirius secretly loved the crinkles around Euphemia’s eyes whenever she frowned and tutted that he was malnourished or not getting enough sleep. She was exactly what Sirius wanted a mother to be.

“Sirius, dear, what’s wrong?” Euphemia had asked as Sirius startled awake and sat up, blinking in the light and the after-effects of the nightmare. “You were screaming loud enough to wake the dead.”

Sirius shook his head. “Just a nightmare, marm.”

Euphemia took a seat beside him. “You’ve been different this summer, luv. Do you want to tell me what happened with that family of yours?”

Sirius shook his head again and looked away from her. He knew the Euphemia Potter was a skilled Legilimens, and even though he was pretty sure she would not look into his mind without his permission, he did not want any chance of her seeing the shame of that memory.

To his surprise, Euphemia wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him to her in an embrace. She and Fleamont had hugged him before, but beside that Sirius was not used to physical affection from adults. For a moment he tensed up in her arms, and then without meaning to he’d started to cry. Euphemia had held him to her and hummed an old wizarding nursery rhyme for a long time until he’d stopped. She hadn’t asked him to talk about it again, only dragged him into the kitchen to help her prepare dinner for the rest of their family.

Remus crept back into the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

“Sirius?” he whispered.

“Is Harry alright?”

“Harry’s fine. He’s asleep.”

Remus climbed back into bed and lay behind Sirius, wrapping an arm around his waist and hugging him tight to his chest.

“Are you alright?” Remus asked, in the kind of voice that indicated he knew Sirius could not answer him.

Sirius turned over in his arms and buried his face in Remus’ nightshirt. The smell of home overwhelmed him. Home, where he’d never thought there could be one. Not in this house, not in bed with this person, _his_ person.

“You love me so well, Moony,” he whispered into Remus’ shirt and felt Remus’ arm squeeze around his waist.

“And you deserve it, Padfoot.” 

Sirius half-smiled and breathed in and was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, y'all! I do have more proper scenes to write as Harry gets older, but in the meantime here are some brief shots of how life goes on.


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